Downplay to Murder
by fvhardy
Summary: While working on a cryptic and confidential FBI case, Fenton Hardy disappears. When Frank and Joe begin their own investigation, they find themselves up against some very dangerous criminals willing to risk anything for their cause...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Seventeen-year-old Frank Hardy jumped as the ringing of the front door bell shattered the quiet of the Hardy home. Hurrying to the door and pulling it open, he glanced anxiously to the top of the stairs to see if the noise had disturbed his mother. When the slim form of Laura Hardy never materialized, he sighed with relief and turned to find Sam Radley standing on the porch.

"Sam, come in," he whispered, gesturing the man in.

The tall, sandy-haired detective stepped into the hall as Frank gave another nervous glance upstairs. The teenager was obviously on edge and Sam noted the pale, drawn face and dark shadows under his eyes with concern.

Frank put a finger to his lip as he quietly closed the front door, then pointed to the living room. Sam nodded and followed him in there, closing the door behind him as he entered.

"Where's Laura?"

"In bed. Dr. Bates made a house call and gave her some sort of sedative." Frank ran a hand through his dark hair. "I don't think her nerves are holding up very well."

Sam winced. His news was not going to improve the situation. "What about Joe?"

"He went for a run; he's going stir-crazy in the house. Sam, please tell me you have news?"

The detective sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Frank. I tapped every source I had in the bureau but no one seems to know anything. It's like Fenton made the whole thing up."

Frank sank onto the couch. "Dad wouldn't lie, _someone_ hired him!"

"I know, Frank. But the problem is Fenton never told us who, which means the FBI can deny calling him in and we don't have any proof that they did."

"But someone has to know something!"

"Oh, someone does," Sam replied grimly. "They just don't seem to be talking."

Frank stared up at the detective, despair evident on his face. "So how do we find out? It's been almost three weeks since we heard from Dad. He would never leave us hanging like this, Sam, you know he wouldn't!" Frank's face changed from desperation to uncertainty. "Would he?"

"No, he wouldn't!" said Sam, vehemently.

Slumping, Frank rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and asked, "What do we do next?"

The detective sat on the couch next to Frank. "There is something that occurred to me on my way back from Washington. I could be wrong, but if I'm right then it might give us something to work with."

"What is it?" demanded Frank, staring intently at the detective.

"I'm pretty sure none of my contacts lied about Fenton working with the FBI, but Fenton wouldn't lie either. And he's not stupid; he wouldn't have taken a deep undercover case like this without knowing that the person who hired him was genuine. Frank, I think that whoever hired him was probably pretty high up the chain of command."

"Which makes whatever he was hired to do highly classified and also explains why Dad was so secretive about it." Frank paused and frowned. "But if it's that classified, why hire someone from outside the FBI? That just doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't," Sam agreed. "But it does explain why none of my contacts knew Fenton had been hired."

"Okay, but how does that help us?"

"The FBI invented bureaucracy and I bet that whatever Fenton was hired for, there's a file on it."

"So?"

"So, I get one of my contacts to dig around and find it."

Frank looked incredulous. "Sam, this is the FBI we're talking about! No one is going to hand you something that classified."

"We'll see about that. Someone in the FBI owes me a very big favour and I think it's about time I called it in."

"But what if there is no file? Or what if there is and this contact of yours can't get his hands on it? If Dad really is missing then I can't just sit here and wait for the FBI to find him! Dad's not FBI…how do we know they'd even try to help him?"

"They wouldn't leave a field operative missing," said Sam quietly. "Even if he's not FBI."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"I know. I'm sorry, Frank; I wish I had more to tell you."

The dark-haired Hardy boy exhaled loudly through his teeth, frustration etched on his face. "How long will it take this contact of yours to access the file?"

"You know I can't answer that. Frank, I know you want answers and I understand that this is hard, but we're just going to have to sit tight until we get more information."

"I know, I know. I just hate this limbo! Not knowing where Dad is or if he's okay, it's just…" his voice tailed off and he shrugged.

Sam gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. "Look, as soon as I get home, how about I call my contact? That should get things moving faster and if I call him at home, no one in the FBI will know that we're trying to access this information − whatever it is − and burying it any deeper."

"Good idea."

"I learned from the best," said Sam, yawning. "S-o-o-oorry, Frank. It's been a long few days and I'm really beat."

"I guess there's nothing else we can do for now," Frank told him reluctantly. "Why don't you head home and get some rest?"

"Think I will," said Sam and yawned again. "You know where to find me if anything comes up."

"I do. And thanks, Sam, for everything."

Sam smiled as he stood up. "Don't mention it, kiddo. I'll see myself out. See you tomorrow, Frank."

"Bye, Sam."

Frank listened until the front door closed before getting up and starting to pace around the living room. He knew he needed to relax but he couldn't. Ever since Fenton's last phone call he'd been perpetually on edge; like a wind-up doll. His body felt stiff from the constant strain. It didn't help that the whole family was so uneasy about the missing detective; Fenton had never remained undercover for this long without contacting them. Although they hadn't voiced it, the entire Hardy family was starting to fear the worst.

"Frank?" he heard his brother's voice call suddenly.

"Shhhhh!" he hissed, pulling open the living room door to reveal Joe in the hallway removing his running shoes.

Joe cringed as he glanced up the stairs. "Sorry," he mouthed. "Forgot." Straightening up, the blond boy jerked his head towards the kitchen before padding in that direction.

Frank followed after his brother, eager to tell him what he and Sam had discussed. As the older boy closed the kitchen door behind him, Joe headed straight for the refrigerator and removed a carton of juice. "Did I just see Sam's car pulling out?" he asked, opening the cupboard to get a glass.

Frank nodded, sitting down at the table.

Joe looked hopeful. "Did he get anything from his contacts at the FBI?"

Frank shook his head. "Nothing. According to them, there's no record of Dad working with the FBI."

Joe sat into the chair opposite Frank with a loud thud. "Well, that's a big fat lie!" he cried indignantly.

"Joe, shhhhhh! Don't wake Mom."

The blond boy lowered his voice. "Frank, Dad was hired by the FBI to do some stupid undercover operation; he left here over a month ago and we haven't seen him since! How can the FBI lie about that?"

"Sam doesn't think they are…well his contacts aren't at least. Listen."

While Joe poured and drank his juice, Frank repeated everything that he and Sam had discussed. When he was finished, Joe looked troubled. "Frank, I don't like this. Just how dangerous was this undercover gig?"

Frank shook his head. He had been wondering the same thing.

"And even if it does exist," Joe continued, "what if Sam's contact can't get this classified file? Do we wait for the FBI to find Dad or for him to contact us?"

"I don't know, Joe."

Both boys stared at one another in agitated silence across the table. Neither one of them had much faith in the FBI to find their father since they had hired him to do a job they apparently couldn't in the first place.

"What do we tell Mom?" Joe wanted to know.

"Nothing. She doesn't know that Sam went to Washington; she doesn't need to know what he didn't find out.

"We lie to her−"

"No! We just don't tell her."

Joe stared at his brother unhappily. "That feels like lying to me."

"It's not lying, Joe," said Frank wearily. "But does Mom seem in any shape to be hearing that Dad was sent on some super classified mission by the FBI and now that's he's MIA, they're denying they hired him?"

"I guess not."

"We say nothing until we know more. It sucks, Joe but that's all we can do right now."

"I hate waiting."

"I don't like it either but what choice do we have? Sam's right, we haven't even the slightest hint of something to investigate. Until he gets this file, we just have to sit tight."

"What if he doesn't get it?"

"We just have to hope he does."

Joe stared at him. He knew his brother was right but that didn't mean he had to like it. Finally, he sighed in frustration. "I'm going to take a shower."

Frank nodded and waited until his younger brother was out of the kitchen before slumping over the table with his head in his hands. Wherever his father was, Frank hoped he was okay. And if he was okay, Frank hoped he had a damned good reason for putting them all through this, especially after his last phone call.

The dark-haired teenager thought back to the afternoon almost three weeks ago when this had all started. It had been blisteringly hot and muggy; the air so stale and suffocating that not even the hum of insects hung in the air. Chet, Iola and Callie had called over and the five teenagers had been sitting on the back porch drinking some of Aunt Gertrude's homemade iced-tea. It was too hot to do anything else.

Then the phone rang.

"Not getting it!" Joe had cried quickly from where he was lying on the porch swing, his legs thrown over Iola's.

Grumbling and reluctant, Frank had pulled himself up from the wicker chair beside Callie and headed back into the cool of the house. He was almost at the hall door when he heard a voice say, "hello?"

_Mom's back_, Frank realized. He turned to head back out to the porch when he heard panic in his mother's voice.

"What do you mean? Fenton, what's going on?"

Hurrying through the door to the hall, Frank's first view had been of his mother's frightened face, the phone clutched tightly to her ear with both hands. "Fenton, I don't understand, why can't you…Fenton, you're scaring me!"

Frank snatched the receiver from his mother's hands. "Dad!" he had practically shouted into the mouthpiece.

"Frank!" his father's voice had sounded slightly higher than its usual deep calm. "Frank, I need you to listen to me very carefully."

"Dad, what's going on?"

"Frank, just listen. I don't have much time! I'm fine but I won't be able to contact you for a while. They rarely leave me on my own which makes it makes it hard to make calls. Besides, I think it's best that they can't trace my family back through me."

"Dad, what−"

"FRANK, just listen. You won't hear from me again for a while but I will try to send someone to you. He's going to need your help, Frank, so you help him, do you hear?"

"Yes, but−"

"Someone's coming!"

The next thing Frank knew, he was staring at the phone and listening to the soft hum of a dial tone.

"Frank, what was that about?" his mother's voice was low and tight with fear.

The boy had stared helplessly back at her. "I have no idea."

Frank inhaled sharply coming back to the present in the kitchen. He had been through that scene so many times in his head and it still unsettled him every bit as much as it had the first time. His father had sounded so urgent on the phone. Frank knew he had been trying to hide it, but he could still hear the stress in Fenton's voice. He didn't know what unnerved him more; the fact that his father was so agitated while undercover, or the fact that he'd tried to hide it from him.

And why couldn't he contact them? Fenton had never been in so deep before that he couldn't contact them…not to mention that the service provider for his phone was now telling them the number didn't exist. Nor was there any sign of this stranger his father had mentioned. It made Frank sick with worry. What if his father had been caught? He kept hearing those last frantic words, "someone's coming" before the buzz of a dial tone rang in his ear. What if that someone had discovered Fenton on the phone? Overheard him somehow?

The dark-haired boy knew his father had told him that he wouldn't be in contact for a while but this was a lot longer than a while; it had been nearly three weeks. Frank wasn't normally one for gut instinct − that was more Joe's territory − he relied on cool, rational thinking. But right now his gut was screaming out with fear and worry. Frank had a terrible feeling that his father was in grave danger.

**xxx**

It was dark when Frank woke from a dream in which he was chasing his father through a dark and never-ending corridor lined with doors when Joe appeared in a white sheet and pointed a bloody finger accusingly at Frank. Frank had tried to tell his brother that he was chasing their father when Joe melted in a haze of smoke leaving a wraith in his place that flew at Frank and tried to gouge his eyes out. Heart thumping against his ribcage, Frank awoke with a start. Disoriented, he stared up at the inky black ceiling trying to shake the feeling of foreboding that the dream had left him with. _It's just a dream_, the dark-haired teenager tried to reassure himself, trying to ignore the frantic pounding of his heart.

A flicker of light flashed at the corner of his eye and Frank scrambled out of bed, instantly awake. _What was that?_

The light flashed again and Frank realized it was coming from outside. Hurrying to the window and peering out, he froze as he saw the flicker of a flashlight in the backyard.

Someone was trying to break in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Joe was woken by someone shaking him hard. "Jus' five more minutes, Mom," he slurred and burrowed deeper beneath the covers.

"Do I look like Mom?" his brother's voice sounded. "Joe, wake up! NOW!"

Something about the urgency in his brother's voice made Joe peek over the duvet. He could only just see the outline of his brother's face in the dark. Something in his brain clicked. Why was his brother calling him in the middle of the night?

"What is it? What's wrong?" asked the blond teenager, struggling to sit up and shake the sleep from his head.

"There's someone in the backyard," Frank replied. "Come on, but don't turn on a light."

Quickly Joe slipped out of bed and groped for his jeans on the floor. Hurriedly, he pulled them on and wrestled his feet into his sneakers. Frank was standing in the doorway.

"Come on, Joe," he urged, before vanishing from sight.

Half grumbling, Joe pulled a sweatshirt over his head and followed his brother. Frank was almost at the bottom of the stairs.

_And people say I'm the impatient one!_ thought Joe irritably.

He hurried as quickly and as quietly as he could after Frank, nearly tripping in his post-sleep fugue. "Frank," he called softly as he entered the kitchen.

"Shhhh!" came the response from his right and Joe jumped.

"Don't do that!" he hissed.

Frank clamped a hand over Joe's mouth and pointed towards the back porch. The younger boy could only see the faint outline of Frank's finger in the darkened gloom. But then he saw what Frank was pointing at; a light was shining back and forth through the kitchen windows and back door. Someone was on the porch.

Frank removed his hand from Joe's mouth and whispered in his ear, "I'm going to slip out the front door and go around back. You wait here and come out at my signal. We'll take him down together."

"What's your signal?"

"Don't worry, you'll know," Frank replied and then he was gone.

Joe inched towards the back door and ducked as another beam of light shone through the kitchen window. Heavy footsteps shuffled back and forth on the porch but the person didn't seem to be trying to enter the house.

_What does he want?_ Joe wondered. Heart pounding, he hoped Frank knew what he was doing. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped and the beam of light swung away from the house. The boy stood up and saw at once that the beam of light was jiggling around as if the person was making the flashlight dance.

Or struggling with someone.

_Frank!_ Joe realized and rushed to open the back door as a loud bang sounded from the porch. Unlocking the door and wrenching it open, Joe had to pause for a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust.

As his vision cleared, he saw a torch rolling along the porch and two figures wrestling fiercely. Suddenly, one hit the other who fell with a thud. As the first one bent over the second, Joe launched himself forwards. "Get off my brother!" he yelled, jumping on the upright figure and knocking him to the ground.

"Joe! Get off me!" came his brother's voice from beneath him.

"Frank?"

"Catch him!" shouted the older Hardy and Joe turned just in time to see a figure leap over the porch railing and land with a soft _whump_ in the back yard.

"Oh no you don't!" Joe scrambled to his feet and vaulted over the railing. Without pausing, he chased after dark figure fleeing to the back of the garden. The guy was fast but Joe was faster; he caught up with him just as he was trying to climb over the fence. Joe lunged forwards and seized the man's shirt, dragging him back. The man kicked and struggled, landing a punch to the side of Joe's face that set off an explosion of lights behind his eyes. He staggered a little then felt another blow to his eye.

"Cut it out!" he yelled, punching back hard. He was rewarded with an exclamation of pain as his fist met its mark.

"That'll teach you," he grunted, ducking a swing from his opponent.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he heard his brother's voice, "Joe?"

"Give me a hand," he grunted, still wrestling with the intruder.

As Frank approached, the man stopped struggling. "Alright," he gasped. "I give up, please don't hurt me."

"Don't worry, we won't," Frank replied grimly. "We'll leave the police to deal with you."

"No wait! Don't call the police," said the man, panicking. "There's been a big misunderstanding, please just listen to me."

"Misunderstanding?" Joe snorted. "What? This wasn't the house you intended to rob?"

"I wasn't robbing anywhere!" said the man. "Seriously, I just wanted to leave a note for you guys."

"A note?" repeated Frank suspiciously. "Why?"

"I wanted to meet you," the man answered desperately. "Somewhere that wasn't here, I couldn't risk being seen."

Joe gave a snort of derision. "Yeah, right! Why would you want to meet us?"

"Your Dad sent me," he answered, just as Laura Hardy's voice sounded in the dark.

"Frank? Joe?"

"Don't let her see me," begged the man. "Please! Fenton doesn't want her to know." Unsure whether to believe this man or not, the boys' hesitated.

"Frank? Joe?" their mother called again, more worried now. The boys could see her silhouetted on the back porch against the moonlight.

"I can prove it," the intruder hissed. "Check my jacket pocket."

Joe thrust his hand into the man's pocket and felt his fingers close on a piece of paper. Pulling it out he could see it was an envelope but couldn't see who it was addressed to.

"I'll explain everything," the man whispered, "just don't let her see me."

With no other option, Frank responded to his mother's third, frantic call. "It's alright, Mom, we're here. Just a couple of cats fighting in the garden. You go back inside and we'll be in in a few minutes. We're just going to get rid of them."

"Are you sure?" came Laura Hardy's reply. "Where's Joe?"

"Right here, Mom," said Joe. "I'm just going to help Frank get rid of the…ah, cats."

"Okay," they heard their mother's voice, less frantic now but still uncertain. "Don't take too long."

"We won't," the boys chorused and watched their mother melt back into the darkness of the house.

"Cats?" hissed Joe, turning to his brother. "That was the best you could come up with? Cats?"

"What else was I going to say?" Frank defended himself. "Besides, it worked didn't it?"

"Yeah, but lets just hope she doesn't quiz us too thoroughly on this in the morning, I can feel my eye puffing up like a blow fish already."

Frank turned to the man standing silently between them. "You, start talking. What's your name?"

"Riley Harris."

"Why were you sneaking around?" Joe demanded. "And if Dad sent you, why did you jump us?"

"Technically, you jumped me," Riley replied. "And I was sneaking around to find a hiding place to put that letter. I wanted you guys to find it but not your mother."

"I think we should have a read of this," Frank said to his brother as he took the letter from him. "It will either prove or disprove his story. And I'd like a look at him."

"Me too," agreed Joe sourly, his eye still smarting. "Let's go back inside."

"No." Frank shook his head. "Mom's still awake. Let's go to the garage."

Keeping a firm grip on their prisoner, the boys marched him back up the garden and into the garage. Frank flipped on the light switch as they entered.

Eyes smarting and watering against the sudden brightness, both boys turned to examine Riley who was also squinting at the unaccustomed light.

Slightly taller than Frank, with reddish brown hair and dark eyes, Riley looked to be in his early twenties. His clothes were grubby and travel stained, and he had a piercing above his left eyebrow. He was also sporting a rather spectacular bloody nose, much to Joe's satisfaction.

"Aren't you going to read the letter?" he asked the boys.

Frank looked down at the envelope in his hands. "It's addressed to us," he informed Joe, opening it. Inside he found another smaller envelope and a slip of paper. The boys read the slip of paper together.

_Frank and Joe,_

_You don't know me but my name is Riley Harris. I know your Dad. He helped me and he said you could help me too. If you want to know more, please ring 555-6012 between one and two pm, Friday, August 1st. Don't call from home._

_Riley_

_PS the other note is from your Dad, he said it would prove I was genuine. _

"That's the day after tomorrow," Joe commented to his brother.

Frank glanced up from the note. "Why the specific date and time?"

Riley looked apologetic. "Because that number is a payphone. I didn't want to give you the number of where I'm staying in case anyone found the note and knew how to find me. Your Dad suggested it."

"Why not just call us yourself?" Joe demanded in an interrogative tone.

"Because Fenton warned me not to. He said the phone might be bugged."

Frank and Joe glanced at one another. The cautious behavior sounded like their father.

"Open the other note," Joe urged his brother.

Frank did so and once more the brothers leaned in together to read.

_Frank and Joe,_

_I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. I don't want to give too much information in case this falls into the wrong hands. There's too much at stake. Riley is genuine. He's connected to this case and I need you to keep him safe. Don't let anyone except Bert and Ernie know he's there._

_Dad_

Frank and Joe glanced at one another. "That's Dad's writing," Frank whispered.

"But what if he was forced to write it?" Joe whispered back.

"But then he wouldn't have mentioned Con and Sam," Frank replied. Bert and Ernie was their code for Con and Sam; something Joe had jokingly come up with several months previously when the Hardys had discussed using code names, and something Frank never thought they would have to use. The older Hardy shook his head. "Joe, we have no choice but to trust him."

"Well, let's be sure to keep a close eye on him then," Joe muttered, shooting a dark look at the young man.

"Don't worry, we will," Frank reassured him and turned to address Riley. "Okay, let's say we believe you. Why did Dad send you here?"

Riley shrugged. "Search me. Your Dad just told me to come here; he said you could help me."

"Help you with what?" Joe asked. "What kind of trouble are you in?"

"That's the thing," said Riley, "I'm not in trouble! I'm just a student studying for my PhD at North Western. I have no idea why I was kidnapped."

"You were kidnapped?" said Frank sharply.

Riley nodded. "That's how I met your Dad. I thought he was one of the kidnappers until he helped me escape and sent me here."

"You'd better start at the beginning," said Frank.

"It was about two weeks ago," Riley began. "I was late getting home because I'd been working on a project in the library. I was just getting out of my car when two guys jumped me. I tried to fight them off but they were strong and they drugged me. I passed out and when I woke up, I was in a cell. I can't tell you anything about why I was there because the men that delivered my food never spoke. Your Dad came to my cell five nights ago and helped me escape through a sewer tunnel."

"You said you thought he was one of the kidnappers," Frank interrupted. "Why?

"He delivered my meals sometimes," Riley answered.

Frank looked thoughtful. "And you have no idea why you were kidnapped?"

Riley shook his head. "Could this be a case of mistaken identity?"

"No," Frank replied. "Dad sent you here and that means he believes you're in danger. How did you get here?"

"The bus at first. But I saw my kidnappers at the bus terminal in Winchester where I was supposed to get my connecting bus so I hitch-hiked after that."

"They followed you?" said Frank sharply.

Riley nodded, looking embarrassed. "Your Dad told me to 'drop off the radar.' He said not to use my credit card, my bank card or go back to my apartment. He even gave me money to get here."

"So what happened?" asked Joe.

"I called my family," Riley admitted. "I just wanted to let them know I was okay."

Frank nodded in understanding. "What did they say?"

"I didn't get to talk to them," Riley replied. "They were out. So I just left a message telling them what had happened and that I was heading here−"

"You told them you were heading here?" Joe interrupted while Frank groaned. "Our house here?"

"No!" said Riley hurriedly. "No. I'm not that stupid. I just said I was heading to Bayport and that I'd contact them−what?" he demanded as both Frank and Joe groaned in unison.

"You said Bayport," Frank explained. "That's as good as telling them exactly where you're going."

"But I don't understand, why would it−?"

"Our Dad is Fenton Hardy," Joe said quietly. "He's a pretty famous detective and any criminal would just need to hear the town of Bayport to put two and two together."

"But I only called my family!" cried Riley, looking stricken.

"I know," said Frank quietly. "But I'm guessing their phone was bugged. You said something about a bus station?"

"Yeah, in Winchester. I had to get a connecting bus there and I saw the kidnappers waiting as the bus pulled into the station."

"They knew you were there," said Frank grimly. "That proves the phone was bugged. What did you do then?"

"While all the other passengers were getting off, I climbed out the emergency exit and got lost in the crowd. I got on the first bus I saw that was leaving the station and ended up in Cleveland. I hitched from there to here."

"Smart move," said Joe.

Riley gave a weak smile. "Obviously my only one."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, you weren't to know," Joe offered grudgingly.

Frank was looking serious. "Riley, we have to get you out of here. We need to get you somewhere safe."

"But…I thought you were going to help me?"

"We are," Frank assured him. "But these guys have probably figured out that you're heading here and they'll know where to look for you."

"They could know he's here now," said Joe nervously, walking to the window and peering out.

"I don't think so," said Frank. "Riley, you said you hitched the rest of the way here. You didn't enter town by the bus station?"

"No, a truck dropped me off in the center of town yesterday evening."

"They're watching the bus station!" Joe exclaimed as realization dawned. "They don't know he's here yet!"

"Which buys us some time," said Frank.

"So where are we going to hide Riley? At Sam's?"

Frank shook his head. "First connection anyone will make after us is Dad's partner. Besides, there's Ethel to consider."

"What about Con? Dad did mention him as the only other person to trust in the letter."

Frank smiled a little. Sam and Con weren't aware of their given aliases and he wondered what their reaction would be. "I think Con might be our best bet. And we'd better let Sam know too, we're going to need his help.

Joe nodded just as Riley gave an enormous yawn. "Sorry," the young man said apologetically. "I haven't slept much over the last few days."

"Haven't showered much either by the smell of it," Joe muttered.

Frank shot his brother a warning look. "You can sleep here tonight," he told Riley. "It's too late to go to Con's now and I think we should all get some sleep. We can start investigating your kidnapping in the morning." _And find out why the_ _FBI hired Dad to investigate a simple kidnapping,_ he added to himself. If the FBI were being so clandestine about a kidnapping like this, then Frank was willing to bet there was more involved than any of them suspected. He just hoped their father hadn't become a casualty of whatever it was.

_**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one. Like any writer, I love to get feedback, especially when it's positive! And I received some really lovely comments from reviewers who totally cheered up a crappy week so thank you. You rock! I only know you online so all I can do in return is send virtual cookies and good vibes your way._

_However, (and I can't believe I have to add this author note to a chapter AGAIN! Seriously, where does this spite come from?), please, please, don't flame me! I don't mind constructive criticism because it helps me improve in areas I might be weak in, and I don't see anything vindictive in a helpful suggestion. But I work very hard on each story I write, and I there's nothing worse than someone tearing apart your hard work just because they feel your story isn't going where they want it to go. I received a review for chapter one from someone called Mollie (anonymous of course) who decided that I have Frank stand around and worry about a tortured Joe in my stories because she had read the last few chapters of some of my other stories. Well done, Mollie, you make up your mind pretty quick after a glance, don't you? I will freely admit Broken Threads was one of those stories, but only because I wanted to create an explanation for why Frank becomes such a mature teenager at age 18 while Joe doesn't. Don't suppose you read the chapters in Lost Sons where Frank became the target of a serial killer, was attacked and spent several chapters in a coma with Joe worrying about him? No? Didn't think so. What about in Family Values where Joe was the brother to the rescue and Fenton had to contend with a man holding Frank prisoner a gunpoint? Shoot, you never read that either? Well, darn. Referring to the Joe stories, you said you would rather "stick a fork in my eye than try to fight my way through one of those again," didn't you? Well, go right ahead, you do that. I'm certainly not forcing you to read what I've written. Nor is anyone else who writes that style of stories._

_I know the above sounds quite harsh, but reviews like the one from the anonymous Mollie are hurtful, unhelpful and pretty spiteful. Moreover, the fact that they're anonymous is pretty cowardly. I am a Joe-ette, and proud of it, but I do try very hard to keep my stories balanced because I love Frank too and it wouldn't be the Hardy Boys without him. I think for the most part, I do okay with that (I'm sure I can be forgiven the occasional slip because don't other Joe-ettes and Frank-ettes do the same?)._

_I understand that not everyone will like my story and what's more, I respect that. However, (and I have said these very things in an author's note before and it is BLOODY frustrating that I have to say them again) if you don't like a story then the solution is very simple...stop reading. I stop reading stories that I don't like and I have certainly never felt the need to insult a writer because their story (that they had planned, plotted out and written) did not follow the path that I felt it should. That's arrogance and I would never dream of tearing apart someone else's hard work with hurtful remarks just because I didn't like it._

_I'm well aware that the vast majority of readers and reviewers will not do this. For the most part, they leave fantastic and encouraging feedback…the only payment that anyone who writes fanfiction gets (once more a shout out to those people; you rule! Thank you!). I rarely get the chance to read fanfiction these days, but when I do, I always try and leave some sort of feedback for the person who has gone to the effort of writing something. But I would never insult them or tell them that their type of story sends them "into a coma of boredom at this point just thinking about it" (you have a way with words, Mollie, maybe you should try using them to write your own story instead of insulting other people's work?) If you don't like my story and decide to stop reading, that's fine, I completely respect that. If you see something I need to work on and want to tell me about it, then go ahead. I absolutely welcome that type of feedback because it really does help me as a writer. If you don't like my story and decide that you need to defame and insult my writing or the type of story I choose to write, please don't. Keep in mind that I would never do it to you. Thank you._

_**EDIT:** Whoa, long A/N, sorry about that. I just feel pretty strongly about flames._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Neither Frank nor Joe slept much for the remainder of the night. After much debate, they decided to let Riley sleep on the floor of Frank's room where the older Hardy could keep an eye on him and where he was less likely to be seen by Laura should she decide to enter the room unexpectedly.

Shortly after seven and after spending most of the night staring at the ceiling, Frank got up. He could hear his brother moving around in his room and crossed through the bathroom that separated their rooms. Tapping lightly on Joe's door, he pushed it open.

Joe was already dressed, his back to Frank as he stared at himself in the dresser mirror.

"Prettying yourself up just to see Con?" Frank joked. "I don't think you're his…." His voice tailed off as Joe turned to face him. His younger bother's eye was swollen and turning an impressive array of purple colors.

"How am I going to explain this to Mom?" Joe demanded. "Somehow I don't think cats will cut it. You know, I'm really glad I gave Riley that bloody nose…I hope it's the size of a cabbage!"

Frank crossed over to him and examined the bruise. "That looks pretty painful."

"Never mind how it looks! How am I going to explain it to Mom?"

"We'll think of something," said Frank. "But for now, we need to get to Con's. You get Riley and sneak him out to the car. I'll distract Mom and tell her you've gone for a run. I'll meet you outside."

"What about breakfast?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "Why is your stomach always the first thing you think of?"

"It's not always the first thing I think of," Joe defended himself. "And you didn't answer my question."

"We'll grab something on the way to Con's. Just give me five minutes to get dressed and I'll go distract Mom. I'll meet you at the car in ten."

"Fine," Joe sighed and ignored the loud rumble of his stomach. "Is Riley still asleep?"

"I think so," said Frank. "I'll go wake him and send him into you."

Twenty minutes later, an irate Joe was fidgeting in the car and seriously debating blowing the horn if Frank didn't come out soon when his brother appeared, chewing a slice of toast.

"What is that?" Joe demanded as Frank slid into the driver's seat.

"What?"

"That!" Joe jabbed at the toast.

"Oh." Frank glanced at it. "Mom wouldn't let me go without eating something and she quizzed me about last−hey!"

Joe had snatched the toast from his brother.

"That was my breakfast!" said Frank indignantly as Joe bit into the toast.

"Yeah? Well, its mine now."

"You're so cranky when you don't get fed," Frank told him, starting up the car.

"Just drive. And don't forget, you promised me we'd stop and pick something up."

Reversing out of the drive, Frank rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Are you two always like this?" Riley asked from the backseat.

"Only in the mornings," Frank said. "Joe's like a crabby child when he doesn't get his beauty sleep.

His brother gave him a sour look.

**xxx**

Twenty minutes and one pit-stop later, the Hardys and Riley pulled into Con's drive.

"I called Sam," Frank told the other two as he rang the bell. "He said he'd meet us here." They waited for several minutes.

"I sure hope Con's up," Joe muttered as Frank pressed the buzzer again.

It was a few minutes before the distinct sound of someone pounding down the stairs sounded from inside the house. Within seconds, the door was wrenched open and they were greeted by the bleary, irritated face of Con Riley.

"Frank? Joe? Please tell me there's a good reason for this."

"There is," Frank answered. "Can we come in?"

"Why not?" Con sighed, standing aside to let them in. "You're here, aren't you? Although a phone call would have been nice."

"There wasn't much time for that," said Frank apologetically as they trouped in.

"There never is with you Hardys," Con said grumpily. "Just let me put on a pot of coffee, I was on a late shift last night and I only got to bed around two."

"Sorry, Con," Frank apologized, following him through to the kitchen. "We wouldn't have done this if it wasn't important."

"Its okay, Frank, I know. Just ignore me; I'll be fine once I get some caffeine in my system. Have a seat, guys." He opened a cupboard and pulled out a packet of coffee beans. "Can I ask who your friend is?"

"Riley Harris," Frank replied, as they seated themselves around the table. "Dad sent him."

Con looked startled. He was aware of the missing detective. "Your Dad sent…? What's going on, Frank?"

"Sam is on his way over too. I think we'd better wait for him to explain."

"Better make sure to put on enough coffee for him too," Con replied, rattling the coffee beans and inhaling the smell with a blissful sigh.

Just then the doorbell rang. "That'll be Sam," said Frank, getting up. "I'll get it." He left the kitchen and reentered a minute later with Sam Radley.

"Morning all," Sam greeted them.

"Hey, Sam," said Joe, while Con gave a wave from over by the coffee pot.

"What happened to your eye, Joe?" Sam asked, sliding into a chair beside the blond boy. "And who's this?"

"Riley Harris," Frank answered, sitting down as well. "Dad sent him."

"What!" Sam exclaimed, as Con put cups on the table in front of them. "Frank, are you sure your Dad sent him?"

Frank nodded and produced the notes. Sam and Con glanced at them. "Okay," said Sam. "No offence, Riley, but we can't be too careful."

"None taken," said Riley, as Con placed milk and sugar on the table.

"Think I'm a little bit more concerned about the code," Con jibbed. "Bert and Ernie?"

Frank shrugged. "Don't look at me, ask Joe. It was his idea."

Sam and Con glanced at the blond teenager who blushed. "It was the first thing that popped into my head," he said defensively.

Sam chuckled. "Just so long as I'm Bert!"

"Hey!" said Con, putting a pot of coffee in the centre of the table and sitting down. "Why do I have to be the one with the rubber duck fixation?"

"Because I'm the one with the brains," replied Sam cheerfully while Con mock-scowled. "Now, Frank, want to explain to us how Riley arrived here?"

Frank nodded and immediately launched into the tale of what had happened the night before. With Riley's help, he explained everything to Sam and Con. When he had finished, the two men glanced at each other then back at Riley.

"So Fenton really is okay?" Sam asked and Riley nodded. "Then why hasn't he been in contact since that call?"

Riley shrugged.

"At least we know he's okay," Con commented. "Sam, did you find out anything in Washington?"

Sam shook his head. "FBI were tightlipped, I got nothing. But we did figure out that Fenton must have been hired by someone pretty high up in the bureau." Sam then explained everything he and Frank had discussed the evening before. When he was finished, Con whistled.

"That would explain a lot!"

Joe nodded. "Yeah, like why Dad didn't tell us anything about the case before he left."

"But what has any of this got to do with me?" Riley interjected. "I've got nothing to do with the FBI, I'm an archeology student!"

"Good question," Sam answered, studying him seriously. "Why did these guys kidnap you? Frank and Joe are right, Fenton wouldn't have sent you here if he didn't think you were in real danger."

"But I really don't know why!" Riley protested.

Sam held up his hand. "I believe you, Riley. What do your parents do?"

Riley looked confused. "My Mom's a kindergarten teacher and my Dad's a scientist, but they're not rich."

Frank's ears pricked up. "You're Dad's a scientist? What kind?"

"Pharmaceuticals mostly. He works for a private company in Baltimore."

"Mostly?" Sam repeated. "What else does he do?"

"Nothing," Riley shrugged. "I mean, he used to be a biodefense researcher for Fort Detrick, but that was five years ago."

"Biodefence?" repeated Sam thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but like I said, that was five years ago." Riley looked around the table at their grim faces. "You guys don't seriously think that has anything to do with this, do you?"

"From what you've told us, I really don't think this is about you," Sam answered. "Unless you discovered something amazing on a dig or something?"

Riley shook his head. "I haven't been on a dig in months, too busy working on my thesis."

"Which makes it all the more likely that the connection is something else and your Dad might be it," Frank put in. "What's your Dad's name?"

"Jonah Harris. But seriously, guys, couldn't this just be a case of mistaken identity?"

"I doubt it," Sam replied gently. "Like I said, Fenton wouldn't have sent you here if he didn't think you were in danger."

"So what do I do?" asked Riley, looking stricken.

"You don't have to do anything," Frank answered quietly. "We just need to keep you hidden until this is all sorted."

"But where do we hide him?" Con wanted to know. "He can't stay at yours, it'll be the first place these guys look."

"And he can't stay at mine because I'm Fenton's partner," Sam added quietly. "Mine is the second place anyone would look."

"What we need," Frank said carefully, looking at Con, "is someone we can trust. Someone who won't be connected to Dad."

"Con nodded. "Yeah, but who…?" his voice trailed off and he sighed. "You mean me, don't you?"

Frank nodded. "Please, Con? We can't trust anyone else and these guys would have no way to connect you to Dad…to them, you're probably just another police officer he works with from time to time."

Con nodded. "Alright. I can pretend he's my cousin from Chicago over for a visit."

"Thanks, Con," said Frank gratefully. "We really appreciate this."

"I know you do," Con replied just as Sam cleared his throat. They all looked at the detective.

"I think it would be a good idea if Riley were to disguise himself a little," Sam said carefully. "Riley, how would you feel about dying your hair and taking out that eyebrow piercing?"

The younger man looked startled. "I don't know…okay, I guess. But is that really necessary?"

"Probably not," Sam reassured him. "We're just acting with an abundance of caution."

"I have a question," Joe interrupted them all suddenly. He had been staring intently at Riley since they had started talking and Frank knew he still didn't trust him. The older Hardy wasn't sure if he fully trusted Riley either, but at least his instincts weren't being coloured by a black eye. He shot his younger brother a warning look which Joe ignored.

"If you really were kidnapped and Dad helped you escape," Joe began, his gaze fixed on Riley, "then you should know where you were held prisoner; why didn't you go to the police?"

Frank stared at his younger brother. It was a good question and he was taken aback that he hadn't been the one to think of it. Sam and Con looked equally surprised.

Riley, however, looked offended. "I thought you guys believed me?"

"We did−we do," Frank clarified. "But Joe asked a good question, why _didn't_ you go to the police?"

"Because your Dad told me not to," Riley scowled. "He said it was vital that no one knew where I was and that the police wouldn't be able to help me anyway. I trusted him because he helped me escape. And I can't tell you where I was held because it was nighttime in the middle of nowhere when your Dad helped me escape. I spent hours just trying to find a road and came out somewhere near Blue Ridge Parkway."

"Fair enough," said Frank, although he could tell that Joe still wasn't happy. He was surprised his brother hadn't said anything sooner; Joe wasn't exactly known for his patience.

Con, sensing that Joe was going to object further, turned to Riley. "Since you're going to be staying here, why don't I show you around the house and where you'll be sleeping? I'll lend you some clothes, I'm sure you'd like to freshen up."

"Okay, thanks." The young man stood up and followed Con out of the kitchen. The others waited until they heard footsteps on the stairs before they started to speak.

"I don't trust him," Joe announced to the others at once.

"I don't know if we can trust him one hundred percent either," Frank admitted. "But we don't have any choice; he's our only link to Dad. That note was definitely from Dad and I don't think he was forced to write it."

"Frank's right," Sam cut in as Joe opened his mouth to object. "And I can easily check out Riley's background and family to prove he is who he says he is."

"How long will that take?" asked Joe.

"A couple of hours," Sam answered. "I can have everything on Riley by this evening…right down to where he went to kindergarten."

Looking slightly mollified, Joe nodded. "Okay. Is there anything Frank and I can do?"

"Find out the name of the bus terminal in Winchester where Riley saw his kidnappers, and the day he was there. Con might be able to get security footage that could help us get an image of these guys."

"Good idea," said Frank, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease slightly at the thought of being able to do something. "What about your contact at the FBI, did you call him?"

Sam nodded. "Last night. He promised to dig around for me and see what he could come up with."

"Do you think he'll find anything?"

"I honestly don't know, Frank. But if there really is a file then there's a good chance he'll find it." He glanced at the two boys. "I'd better get going. The sooner I get some information on Riley the sooner we'll know if we can trust him or not."

"Thanks, Sam," said Frank as the detective stood up. "Call us as soon as you know something?"

"You know I will."

**xxx**

Later that evening, Frank was sitting in the kitchen grinning with amusement as his mother fussed around Joe. His brother was scowling darkly.

They had spent the day at Con's with Riley, while the officer went into the station to make a few calls and see if he could get some security footage from the bus terminal in Winchester. Frank had found the day rather trying as it seemed that Joe had taken a dislike to the young man and wasn't exactly subtle about his feelings. For his part, Riley had guessed that the younger Hardy was still annoyed about the black eye and had wisely stayed quiet. Frank hoped that Joe's animosity would dissipate if Sam's investigation revealed that he was telling the truth. When Con returned and informed them that a friend of his in Roanoke would be able to get the footage for them and he should have it in a day or two, the boys had decided to return home, leaving Riley under the astute officer's watchful eye.

They had concocted a story for their mother to explain Joe's black eye and as soon as they had come through the kitchen door, Joe told his mother that he tripped while out for his run and hit his eye on the corner of a park bench, which explained Laura Hardy's current mother hen mode.

Just then, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," said Laura, moving towards the hall. "Joe, keep that ice on your eye."

"You know, you don't have to enjoy this so much," Joe scowled, removing the ice from his eye. "Don't you have something better to do?"

"And miss you getting the mom treatment?" Frank rejoined lazily, his hands behind his head.

Joe's scowl deepened before he hastily returned the icepack to his eye as their mother reentered the kitchen. Sam Radley strolled in behind her.

"Evening, boys," he said carefully. "Joe, what happened to your eye?"

"I fell while out jogging," the blond boy replied, playing along. "Mom, it feels fine, can I please take this ice off?"

"Hmmm," said his mother, inspecting the bruise. "I suppose so. I swear, if I didn't know better I'd say you'd been fighting someone."

Joe dropped his head quickly so Laura wouldn't see the tell-tale flush that darted across his face.

"Coffee, Sam?" she asked turning to the detective.

"No thanks," he replied.

"Are you sure?" she began and turned, distracted, as the phone rang. "Oh dear, I'd better get that."

While Laura hurried from the kitchen, Sam joined the two boys at the table. "That'll be Ethel," he told them quietly. "I told her to ring Laura so we could talk. She should keep her on for the next twenty minutes or so."

Both boys couldn't resist a grin. Ethel's ability to talk was legendary.

"So, what did you find out?" Frank asked him in a low voice.

"Riley is telling us the truth," Sam answered. "From his birth cert right up to when he started his doctorate last year, there's nothing even slightly out of the ordinary about him. I even got a copy of his DMV photo."

"So we can trust him?" Joe wanted to know. Sam nodded.

"What about his family?" Frank asked.

"Clean. Nothing suspicious anywhere, which presents us with a problem."

"Why?"

"Because it's not just Riley," replied Sam, looking serious. "His entire family have disappeared!"

_**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and reassured me after the charming troll. It really helped so thank you. Anyway, I'm down off my soapbox so there'll be no long rant this time! Hope you enjoy this chapter. :)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"What!" Frank exclaimed while Joe looked stunned. "What do you mean his family has disappeared?"

"Exactly that." Sam looked grim. "While I was checking out Riley's background, I noticed that the missing person's report for him was filed over a week after he said he was kidnapped so I checked it out. It was filed by his roommate. When I dug deeper, I found missing persons' reports on his mother and father. He has a younger sister but she's studying in England. I haven't heard anything back from the authorities there yet but I'd be willing to bet there's a missing person's report on her too."

"I don't believe this," said Frank incredulously. "Have you told Riley?"

"No. And I'm not sure we should until we find out more."

"That's not right," Joe argued at once. "He deserves to know."

"I know he does. But, Joe, you tell Riley about his family and he'll want to go straight to the police."

"But I don't understand why we _can't_ go to the police!"

"Because Fenton warned Riley not to go to the police," Sam replied. "Besides, going to the police might alert Riley's kidnappers to his whereabouts."

"I wonder why Dad didn't want him to go to the police," Frank mused.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, but I bet Fenton had a good reason for it. Riley and his family all went missing within hours of each other so whoever these guys are, they're organized and they're professional."

"And probably dangerous too," Frank added quietly.

"Probably," Sam agreed, nodding. "I don't know what the Harris family has to do with this case but I contacted my guy in the Bureau and gave him their details, he might be able to uncover a connection there."

"What about Riley's Dad, the scientist?" Joe wanted to know.

"Pretty innocuous. He spends his time developing nasal sprays to help combat allergies," Sam replied. "He did work for Fort Detrick five years ago but, as far as I can tell, he's had nothing to do with that part of his life since he left. Did Con have any luck with the security tapes from the bus terminal?"

"He'll have the tapes in the next day or so," Frank told him. "Sam, what do we do now?"

"Not much," the detective replied. "I'll keep digging on the Harris family, but until we get those tapes or some sort of a lead, we've hit a wall."

Silence fell as the three of them stared at one another. They didn't voice it aloud but this new discovery had increased their fear for the safety of Fenton Hardy.

**xxx**

"We should call Sam," Joe told Frank for the hundredth time the next evening as they drove out to the Morton farm to collect Chet. The three boys had made plans to go to Mr. Pizza's. It had been Frank's idea; the older Hardy thought it would be a good idea if they got out of the house for a few hours instead of just sitting around waiting for news from Sam. Unfortunately, it didn't stop Joe from fretting, complaining and generally driving his brother up the wall.

"For crying out loud, Joe," said the older boy irritably. "Sam is doing all he can and he will call us the second he has news. Let's not hinder him unnecessarily by calling him every hour!"

"I want to do something," Joe stated mulishly. "I can't sit and wait around like this, its driving me crazy!"

"Do you think it's any easier for me?" his brother reminded him. "I want to be doing something too, but what can we do?"

"I don't know, there has to be _something_!" Joe hit the dashboard in frustration as the car turned down the lane to the Morton house.

Frank didn't answer. He too felt his brother's frustration at the situation but was better able to control it.

"Callie's here," Joe commented as they pulled into the Morton's yard.

Frank couldn't help but feel his spirits lift at the sight of his pretty girlfriend waving from the Morton porch. She had been away with her family for the last few days and he had missed her.

"I didn't know you'd be here," he said, climbing out of the car as the blond haired girl came towards him.

"Iola told me you were coming out here and I thought I'd surprise you," she said, leaning in and giving him a quick kiss. They both pointedly ignored the gagging noises emanating from Joe.

"It's a nice surprise," said Frank softly, smiling down at her.

"Oh brother," Joe snorted and mimed getting sick.

"Nice to see you too, Joe," Callie greeted him dryly.

"Hi," the younger boy replied. "Where's Chet?"

"Inside. Iola's making cookies and he's hovering around the kitchen." Callie had barely finished speaking when Joe darted with enthusiasm into the house; he loved Iola Morton's cookies.

"What happened to his eye?" asked Callie, as she and Frank followed Joe at a more sedate pace into the house.

"It's a long story."

"Has there been any word on your Dad?"

Frank shook his head. He couldn't tell her about Riley but he couldn't lie outright to her either.

"What about you?" she asked softly, touching his arm. "How are you doing?"

"Frustrated, tense and about ready to scream," the dark-haired Hardy admitted as they reached the kitchen and the delicious smell of baking hit their nostrils. "Wow, Iola, those smell good!"

"Thanks, Frank," the petite girl replied, ignoring Chet and Joe who hovered behind her with hopeful, hangdog expressions. She was just putting the cookies on a wire rack to cool. "They're for the children's ward. They're having a birthday party for one of the kids today."

Frank smiled. Iola was a volunteer at Bayport General, one of her many extracurricular activities. Like Joe, she was gregarious and outgoing and liked to be involved in everything. Inwardly he marveled that they still weren't going out, despite the obvious mutual attraction.

"Don't suppose we could have one or two cookies?" Joe asked Iola hopefully.

She shook her head. "Sorry, Joe, but my shift starts in an hour and I don't have time to make more. I'll make another batch tomorrow and you can have some then. Promise."

"Guys, if we want to get to Mr. Pizza's before six then we should get going," Frank put in, trying not to laugh at Joe and Chet's ludicrously crestfallen expressions. "Callie, would you like to come with us?"

She shook her head. "Maybe another day. I only got back this afternoon and I still have to unpack. Besides, I promised Iola I'd give her a lift to the hospital."

Frank nodded in understanding before turning to Joe and Chet who were staring longingly at the cookies cooling on the wire rack. "You guys ready?"

Reluctantly, they tore their eyes away from the cookies and over to the older Hardy who was standing by the kitchen door with his eyebrows raised expectantly. Joe sighed. "We're ready."

"Let's go then." Frank smiled in amusement. "See you tomorrow, Iola."

"Bye," she waved cheerfully as the three boys and Callie exited the kitchen.

At the front door, while Chet fumbled for his wallet, Callie stood on tiptoe and kissed Frank on the cheek. "I'll call you later, okay?" she said, once more ignoring Joe who was rolling his eyes and making huffing noises.

After Callie and Frank had said their goodbyes, the three boys headed out the front door and back down the porch steps to the car.

"Hey, Frank," Chet addressed the older Hardy as they climbed into the car, "would you mind making a quick pit-stop on the way to Mr. Pizza's?"

Frank nodded. "Sure. Where do you need to go?"

"The Queen of Tarts. I have a hankering for some cookies."

"Cookies?" Frank repeated, rolling his eyes. "Chet, we're about to go for pizza, how can you even think about cookies?"

"There's always time for cookies," replied Chet cheerfully.

Shaking his head, Frank reached down to start the car just as his cell phone went off. "It's Sam," he informed them, glancing at the display before answering. "Hello?"

Joe watched anxiously as his brother listened to Sam while Chet stared out the window and hummed tunelessly, completely unaware of the sudden tension. "Okay, Sam, we'll be straight over."

"What did Sam say?" asked Joe as his brother disconnected the call.

"His contact in the bureau got back to him. He's got some information and a name already."

"Told you we should have called."

Frank ignored him. "He's just on his way back from Con's now. He pulled a picture to go with the name and Riley ID'ed him as one of the kidnappers. He wants us to call over to his place."

"Who's Riley?" Chet wanted to know. "What's going on?"

Frank and Joe glanced at each other. They both wanted to go straight to Sam's and find out everything he had learned, but doing so would mean taking Chet with them to Sam's or leaving him here at home. Either way, they would have to explain the sudden change of plan.

The Hardy's hesitated for several minutes before Chet sighed. "We're not going to Mr. Pizza's, are we?"

"Sorry, Chet," said Frank quietly. "But this is important."

"It's about your Dad, isn't it?"

Frank nodded and glanced back at his brother. Neither one of them was prepared to lie to their friend, and they both knew they could trust him with the truth. The problem was, should they? After all, their father had specified in his note that they weren't to tell anyone.

"Guys, what's going on?" Chet demanded when the Hardys remained silent.

Frank sighed. Whether they liked it or not, they would have to tell Chet what was going on. At this point, their friend would be hurt if they didn't confide in him.

"We can tell him on the way to Sam's," Frank told Joe, starting up the car.

**xxx**

Almost half an hour later, the three boys were pulling up in front of Sam's house. Joe had just finished telling Chet everything and the stout boy was shaking his head. "So why hasn't your Dad been in contact?"

"I wish we knew," Joe replied quietly.

"Chet, you have to promise not to say a word about this to anyone," Frank told him. "Even Mom doesn't know what's going on."

"You can count on me, Frank," their friend replied solemnly.

"Thanks, Chet."

The three boys got out of the car and were walking up the drive when the front door opened. It was Sam, who had clearly been watching for them, although he looked a little surprised to see Chet.

"He was with us when you called," Frank explained as they reached the door. "We had to tell him. Don't worry, Chet won't say anything."

Chet nodded his agreement.

"I'm glad to hear that because we have a problem," Sam responded, ushering them in and closing the door. "Jake − that's my contact at the FBI − didn't find any evidence that your Dad was working with the FBI, but he did find a file on the entire Harris family."

"What did it say?" queried Frank, somewhat surprised.

"Pretty much just detailed information on the family along with their missing persons' reports, but it did make mention of the work Riley's Dad did at Fort Detrick."

"It did? What kind of work did he do?"

Sam shook his head. "The file was a little vague. It said he was working on a new anthrax vaccine when he left Fort Detrick but it doesn't say why he left. I get the impression he left pretty suddenly."

"What about this guy that Riley ID'ed?" Joe wanted to know. "Who is he?"

"Viktor Beschastnykh," said Sam. "The file doesn't say why, but the FBI have flagged him for the disappearance of the Harris family. Riley's ID proves they're right."

"Who's Viktor Beski…Becu…whatever his name is?" Joe asked.

"Beschastnykh. He's a terrorist on the FBI watch list," Sam replied.

"The FBI watch list?" Frank repeated sharply.

Sam nodded. "This guy has a history as long as my driveway for terrorist activities. He's dangerous, Frank."

"What would a terrorist want with a suburban family?" Joe frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

"It does if a member of that family knows how to weaponize anthrax," Sam said grimly. "You can't work on a vaccine without knowing the chemical composition of the threat."

The three boys looked horrified. "Sam, you don't think…are these guys planning a terrorist attack?" Frank asked.

"That's exactly what I think, Frank."

Sam, what do we do?" Frank wondered. This was so much worse than he had been anticipating.

"Believe it or not, Frank, there's actually a positive in all this−"

"How is there a positive to this?" he interrupted. "You're talking about terrorists!"

"Because we actually have something to work with now," Sam answered. "We can help Fenton."

"How?" Joe whispered, his face ashen and voice shaking. "Dad helped Riley to escape; if these guys really are this professional and dangerous, then they could have figured out who he is and killed him!"

"Joe, Fenton's alive, I promise you that," the detective declared, placing a steadying hand on the teenager's shoulder.

"How do you know that?" Frank asked. "Riley even called his family and left a message saying he was on his way to Bayport. These guys must know that Dad's working the case."

"They probably do," Sam agreed. "But just because they know Fenton is working the case doesn't mean they know he's working undercover; and your Dad is the best undercover detective I know."

"That doesn't mean that Dad is alive," Frank insisted, his hands trembling.

"Guys, if Fenton were dead, we would have found a body," Sam told them quietly. "If Viktor Beschastnykh thought for one second that the FBI had a mole in his operation then he wouldn't hesitate to kill the mole and leave the body where it could be found in order to send a message."

"What message could that possibly send?" Joe demanded.

"You can't infiltrate us, we're one step ahead of you," Sam answered at once. "Men like Beschastnykh operate on the fear their messages send. Trust me, Fenton is alive."

"Sam, you said we can help Dad," Frank addressed the detective. "How?"

"Con is going to circulate Beschastnykh's picture to any officer that he knows and trusts in the areas surrounding Blue Ridge Parkway, Winchester and here in Bayport. If Beschastnykh surfaces, we'll know about it. Second, I have a contact in Fort Detrick who's going to let me know if she hears of any thefts of anthrax. Any missing shipments or lab thefts might help us narrow down a geographical area of where these guys are located." Sam paused, looking thoughtful. "Actually, I might see if she can find out exactly why Jonah Harris left Fort Detrick as well."

"What about us?" Joe asked. "What can we do?"

Sam hesitated, unwilling to involve the boys too deeply in this investigation. When he had first started to investigate Fenton's disappearance, the boys had approached him and begged to be allowed to help. Sensing their frustration and desperation, Sam had asked Laura's permission to involve them in the case. She had agreed only after Sam had promised that the most dangerous thing they would encounter were paper cuts. Sam understood her fear. Ever since what had happened the previous year with Ben Mathis, Laura had been more protective of her sons and tried to discourage them from following in their father's footsteps. That fear had doubled since Fenton's disappearance.

"Please, Sam, let us help!" Joe begged.

"We'll be careful," Frank added.

"Okay," Sam conceded. "I'll give you pictures of Viktor Beschastnykh and his known aliases; stakeout the bus station…but only on the condition that if you see any of these men, you call me or Con straightaway! You do NOT under _any_ circumstances approach or follow them, got that?"

"Yes, Sam," the boys chorused.

"Jake is still trying to track down a file on your Dad's undercover work with the FBI," Sam told them. "And he's going to keep me clued in to any sightings of Beschastnykh or reports of missing anthrax spores."

"So when do we start looking for this Viktor Biscotti guy?" Joe asked eagerly.

"Beschastnykh," Sam corrected him. "And you're not looking for him, you're staking out the station. I mean it, Joe, if you see him then you contact me or Con and we'll take it from there. These men are extremely dangerous." He studied the Hardy brothers intently looking for any sign that they might disobey him. Finally, satisfied that Frank and Joe wouldn't take any unnecessary risks, Sam grinned. "I'll get those pictures for you."

**xxx**

"Here we are," said Frank, parking in front of the Bayport Bus Station. Barely concealed excitement laced his voice. Despite the fact that he and Joe had helped their father out several times on cases, this was the first time they had done anything even resembling a stakeout. It was also the first time they had done something solo. Their father often let them figure things out on their own, but he was always there in the background if they needed help.

Joe looked equally excited, but Chet, who had insisted on coming, now looked downright nervous. "How do we do this?" he asked.

Frank studied the bus station. It was a large building with three different levels containing cafes, shops and restaurants as well as bathrooms and ticket offices. All incoming and outgoing buses were in a large yard to the back, overlooked by one of the larger cafes. Frank glanced at his watch_. Almost seven. We can try and blend in with the last of the rush hour commuters._

"I think we should pretend we're waiting for someone," the dark-haired boy said slowly. "Let's head for the main terminal area first and pretend to check the arrivals board. After that, I'll head out back to the bus yard and check it out. Chet, you go to the first level and scan the crowd, see if you can spot Beschastnykh or any of his cronies. Joe, stay in the main terminal near the ticket offices. If you need to, go to the information booth and pretend to be looking for information so you're not just hanging around."

The three boys climbed out of the car and made their way to the front door of the bus station. Careful to keep his expression neutral, Frank glanced around the terminal building as they came through the front door. The bus station was a hive of activity with people hurrying to catch buses, buy tickets, grab dinner and take taxis. Frank remained on the alert as they made their way slowly to the main terminal. They stopped beneath the arrivals board.

"See anything?" Frank asked his brother under his breath.

"Not a thing," Joe replied in a low voice.

"Okay, you know what to do."

The three boys split up. Frank walked briskly to the yard out back while Joe wandered over near the information booth, pretending to be lost. Chet sauntered towards the escalator, stopping on the way to buy a hotdog from a vendor. Munching nervously, the stout boy clambered onto the escalator and waited as it moved slowly upwards. Stepping off and darting his eyes quickly around the mezzanine, Chet walked over to the nearest restaurant and pretended to study the menu. He was beginning to wish he hadn't insisted on coming with Frank and Joe. Looking for terrorists had not been on his agenda when he got up that morning.

Still eating his hotdog, Chet wandered over to the railing and looked down. He could see Joe at the information booth talking to an attendant. Scanning the crowd, Chet couldn't see any sign of the men they were looking for. Feeling more relaxed, he chewed the last piece of his hotdog, then choked.

Coming out of the men's room was Viktor Beschastnykh.

_**A/N:** Thanks onnce again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, you all rock! Hope you enjoy this one and remember, reviews are loved! ;)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Chet froze, horrified, as Viktor Beschastnykh joined another man skulking by a magazine stand. Rooted to the spot, he watched them converse in low voices and saw the second man shake his head. A quick glance told him that Joe hadn't spotted Beschastnykh as a large group of tourists were standing in his field of vision. There was no sign of Frank.

Chet started to panic. Unlike the Hardy brothers, he didn't have a cell phone to call and alert his friends to Beschastnykh's presence. And while he was quite sure that he was just another face in the crowd to these guys, Chet felt certain that these men would know the faces of the sons of Fenton Hardy. He had to warn Frank and Joe before Beschastnykh saw them first! But how?

Rooting in his pocket, Chet found four boiled sweets. They were sticky and covered in fluff but still hard. _Perfect!_

Moving further away from the men and nearer to where Joe was standing, Chet took careful aim with one of the sweets and fired them at the blond head of the younger Hardy.

It missed by mere inches but Chet knew Joe had heard something because he saw him glance around. Mopping his lightly perspiring forehead, Chet aimed and fired again. This time the sweet hit Joe squarely on the side of the head. The Hardy boy's hand flew to his head and Chet could see the bewilderment on his face as he cast his gaze around to see what had hit him.

_Joe, up here!_ Chet thought wildly, too afraid to give anything more than a surreptitious wave in case he drew the attention of Beschastnykh and his companion. But Joe never looked up.

Heart now beating painfully, Chet lined up a third sweet and fired it at Joe. This time it pinged off Joe's nose and the blond Hardy spun around in obvious irritation as he scanned the crowd for the person who was throwing sweets at him.

_Please, Joe!_ Chet moaned inwardly, lining up his fourth and final sweet. His arm froze as he saw Joe look up and his eyes widen when he saw Chet, arm poised in midair. Chet stole a quick glance at the two men. They had their backs to him. Taking the chance, he pointed in their general direction to alert Joe to their presence but then gesticulated wildly when he saw him move in that direction. "No! No! Go back!" he mouthed frantically. "Joe, GO BACK!"

The blond boy got the message and Chet heaved a sigh of relief as Joe turned and slipped out a side door to the bus yard. Hoping that Joe would alert Frank, Chet hurried to the escalator and descended to the lower level. Walking in what he hoped was an unhurried pace, Chet sauntered over to the newsagent stand and picked up a candy bar. Without looking at the men, Chet stood as near as he dared to them and pretended to peruse the magazines, all the while straining to hear what they were saying.

"…here by now," the shorter one was saying. "He's either come and gone or else he's not coming at all."

"He's coming," Chet heard a thick, heavily accented voice growl. "And you will wait until he does."

The first man grumbled something that Chet was unable to hear and then the accented voice of Beschastnykh spoke again. "If you have a problem then you can take it up with the boss. I need to get back, but you know what to do."

Flustered, Chet grabbed the first magazine his hand fell on and hurried to the cashier. With trembling hands, he paid for the magazine and candy bar, but was a little bewildered when the cashier smirked at him. It was then that Chet realized he had picked up a copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_. Now scarlet and eager to escape, the Morton boy grabbed his purchases and spun away, and promptly collided with the person behind him.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, as the magazine slipped from his sweaty hands.

"No problem," a heavily accented voice replied and Chet felt his blood turn to water as he recognized Viktor Beschastnykh. The man was huge, towering over him by almost a foot, and Chet thought he might faint as the man smiled a cold, shark-like smile at him. "You dropped something," the big man continued, swooping to pick up the magazine. His grin was enormous as he handed it back to Chet. "A nice choice," he chuckled lecherously. "But I prefer them blonde myself!" With a large clap to Chet's back that nearly sent him reeling, Beschastnykh stepped up to the cashier and ordered a packet of cigarettes.

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Chet stumbled blindly away from the newsagent stand and towards the nearest door. The magazine was clutched tightly to his chest. The stout boy jumped and nearly yelled when a hand seized him.

"Chet, it's me!" Frank Hardy's voice hissed. "What's going on?"

"Car," Chet gibbered, his heart hammering so badly he was unable to speak.

With Frank guiding him, Chet found himself out in the sun and facing Joe.

"You bought porn?" Joe's face was incredulous as he stared at the magazine Chet had clutched in his hands.

"Not now," said Frank anxiously, steering Chet towards the car. He had seen Beschastnykh coming their way. Unlocking the door quickly, the three boys piled in. "Get down," Frank hissed. All three boys ducked.

Careful to avoid being spotted, Frank watched Beschastnykh make his way over to a dark blue SUV. The man was smoking a cigarette which he dropped on the ground before climbing into the car. As the SUV started up and reversed out of the space, Frank started up his car.

"Buckle up," he told the other two.

"What?" said Chet as Joe complied. "Frank, you can't be serious! Remember what Sam said."

"I'll be careful," said Frank, pulling out and keeping a watchful eye on the SUV. "But if this guy is hiding out somewhere in Bayport then I want to know where."

"So just ring Sam or Con and get them to do it!" Chet's tone was urgent. "Frank, this guy is a terrorist!"

"I know what he is," said Frank. "But he's leaving the station _now_. By the time Sam and Con get here, it'll be too late and we may not get this chance again." He removed his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to his brother. "Joe, call Sam and let him know where we are."

The younger boy did as instructed and was surprised when he got Sam's voicemail. "Sam, its Joe. We're tailing that Beski-whats-his-face. Call us back, okay?"

"He didn't answer?" asked Frank.

Joe shook his head. "Went straight to voicemail."

"What about Con?" Chet demanded.

Joe dialed the officer's number and waited as the phone rang. "He's not answering," he told the other two after several minutes.

"Try the station," Frank ordered and Joe complied.

"Hello, can I speak to Officer Con Riley please?" he spoke into the phone while the other two listened. They saw him frown. "Do you know when he'll be back?...Okay, thank you officer."

He disconnected the call just as Chet cried, "he's not there?"

Joe shook his head. "'Fraid not. The officer said he was responding to a call. Looks like we're the Calvary, Chet."

"We-are-not-the-Calvary!" Chet ground out through clenched teeth.

"Relax, Chet," said Frank soothingly. "We're not going to do anything, I promise. We're just going to follow him and see where he goes. Look, I'm not even near his car."

It was true that Frank was being careful to keep a very safe distance between them and Beschastnykh − there were five cars between them − but that failed to reassure Chet who was shaking his head.

"This is a bad idea," he muttered. "This is a very bad idea."

"Look who's talking," said Joe, who was grinning. "What were you doing at that magazine stand?"

"I just wanted to hear what they were saying and I knew they wouldn't recognize me," Chet explained. "I thought maybe I could find out something useful but I didn't mean for us to do _this_!" He waved his hand in an expansive gesture around the backseat.

"So it wasn't just an excuse to buy porn?" Joe teased.

"It was an accident! I just grabbed the nearest magazine," Chet defended himself, his gaze landing on the magazine that lay strewn beside him. A voluptuous Asian woman wearing a transparent nightdress pouted up at him. "Actually," the stout boy mused thoughtfully, "I think the magazine may have saved my ass. Bescait thought I was nervous because I was buying porn."

"Beschastnykh," Frank corrected him automatically. "What did they say?"

"They were talking about someone coming," Chet answered. "The other guy seemed to think that he wasn't coming or that he had come already, but Beskibubbly said he would be there."

"Beschastnykh," Frank corrected him again. "And he probably meant Riley. That's good, it means they don't know he's here yet. What else did they say?"

"Just Bestnatchy told the other guy to stay there and if he had a problem to take it up with the boss. Then he said he had to go."

"Did you recognize the other guy?"

Chet shook his head. "I couldn't see his face. Sorry, Frank."

"Don't apologize," the older Hardy told him at once. "Chet, you did great."

"Yeah, nice job with the sweet thing," Joe chimed in. "Quick thinking."

Chet looked pleased with himself. "Don't suppose it would make you reconsider this crazy venture?"

"Nope, sorry, Chet," Joe replied cheerfully.

Chet sighed and slumped back against the seat. He wasn't cut out for this detective stuff; one encounter with Beschastnykh had been more than enough for him. Opening the candy bar he had picked up in the station, Chet tore off the wrapper and bit into the chocolate. _I need sugar for the shock_, he decided.

For the next twenty minutes, Frank tailed Beschastnykh, careful to keep a good distance between their cars. Joe tried several times to reach Con and Sam on their cells with no luck.

"That's the third message I've left for Sam," he complained, shutting off the cell phone. "Why isn't he answering? He knew we were going to stakeout the bus station."

"I don't think he expected us to get results this quickly," Frank replied. "Sam probably thought we'd be hanging around for the next couple of hours waiting for a glimpse of one of the men in the pictures."

Truthfully, the older Hardy had expected the same thing and had resigned himself to several hours of fruitless waiting. The last thing he had expected was to end up tailing Beschastnykh within less than an hour of arriving at the station.

"Hey! He's turning down to the docks!" Joe exclaimed suddenly.

Frank looked at where his brother was pointing and sure enough, Beschastnykh had turned into the wharf and was driving slowly down to the loading docks where several enormous warehouses were situated.

The older Hardy parked in the nearest space by the entrance to the wharf. He didn't think Beschastnykh had noticed them tailing him but he didn't want to take the chance that he might recognize their car either. It might put him on guard.

"Try Sam again," he told his younger brother, never taking his eyes of Beschastnykh's SUV. Joe complied and Frank knew he hadn't got through when he heard him leave another message to let the detective know where they were.

"He's turning off," Frank said watching as the SUV turned left along the pier and disappeared from view. "Joe, we'll head down there and see where he went. Chet, take my phone and keep trying Con and Sam. If we're not back in thirty minutes then−what?" he added, noticing the apprehensive expression on his brother's face.

"Frank, tailing him is one thing but this" − Joe waved a hand − "is a whole new ballgame! These guys are terrorists. What if Beski…Becu…whatever the heck his name is, sees us?"

"Beschastnykh," Frank replied. "And he won't because we're just going to look and see where he went. Joe, these guys could have anything shipping in here! Don't you want to know what they're up to?"

"We promised Sam," Joe reminded him uneasily.

"I know. But we need to know what those guys are up to here in Bayport because they're obviously not just here for Riley. Look, you don't have to come with me, I can just−"

"I'm not letting you down there by yourself!"

"Fine, then come with me! Joe, I'm going down there."

Chet looked uncomfortably from one brother to another. It was unsettling to see Joe as the voice of reason since it was normally Frank who had to talk his brother out of harebrained schemes like this one. He knew Frank had been freaked out ever since Fenton's last phone call, but it wasn't until now that he realized just how scared the older Hardy was of losing his father; Joe might idolize his older brother, but Frank's hero was Fenton Hardy.

Joe nodded. "Alright, lets do this."

Frank turned to Chet. "Are you okay waiting here?"

"Not really," their friend replied grumpily. "But what choice do I have?"

"Chet, I−"

The stout boy sighed and waved him off. "Go! But, Frank, if you're not back in thirty minutes, I will call the police, got that?"

Frank nodded. "We'll be back, I promise."

"Yeah, right," Chet muttered, as the two Hardy brothers strolled casually down to the docks. "Where have I heard that before?"

**xxx**

Joe was anxious as they neared the end of the dock where Beschastnykh had turned off. "Frank, are you sure about this?"

"You still nervous?"

"What do you think?" Joe snapped, then softened. "Sorry, Frank. I just think this is a little above our pay-grade."

"Me too," Frank admitted. "But I didn't see any other−" The older Hardy stopped speaking abruptly and shoved his brother behind a pile of crates before ducking in himself.

"What is it?" Joe whispered but Frank put a finger to his lip and peered around the side of the crates. He had seen Beschastnykh standing at the edge of the dock several feet away with another man. They were watching a rusty old fishing boat pull in alongside them. Someone on board called out and Beschastnykh called back. A rope was thrown and Beschastnykh caught it and looped it around the nearest post. A gangplank was lowered.

Frank watched with baited breath as a man came down the plank and greeted Beschastnykh. He saw them both glance furtively up and down the docks before signaling to someone in the boat. Two more figures appeared on the upper deck and Frank realized that one of them had a black bag over his head and his hands tied behind his back. The other one was guiding him down the plank.

_A prisoner!_ For a split second Frank thought of his father before realizing that the figure was much too short to be Fenton Hardy.

Hurriedly, Beschastnykh and two of the men took the prisoner into the dilapidated warehouse behind them. The last man got back on the boat and pulled up the gangplank and rope before starting up the engine and sailing away again.

Frank turned back to his brother and quickly informed him of everything he had seen.

"Lets see if we can get closer for a better look," suggested Joe, forgetting his reservations about this plan.

The Hardy brothers crept nearer to the building. They were almost there when the front door swung open and one of the men walked out.

Ducking behind a large pile of pallets, Frank and Joe tried to study the man through the cracks. He was tall and muscular, with a large scar running down his right cheek. They could see he was somewhat agitated; his knuckles were white as he puffed furiously on a cigarette and paced nervously. A voice from inside called out to him and the man dropped his cigarette, stubbed it out with his boot and went back inside.

Frank turned to Joe. "One of us needs to get in there."

Joe glanced back at the door. Ignoring his gut instinct which was telling him to get out of there, he swallowed and said, "alright. Which one of us goes in?"

"Me," said Frank at once.

"Why you? And I swear, if you say because you're the oldest, I'll deck you!"

"Fine, fine. Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Okay."

Both boys clenched their fists and silently shook them three times before producing their weapons. Joe was a scissors and Frank was a rock.

"I win," Frank declared.

"Two out of three!"

Rolling his eyes, Frank complied and the boys played again. Once more, Joe came up with the scissors and Frank came up with the rock.

Frank couldn't help but grin. "Ah, Joe, always with the scissors!"

"Do not!"

"Do too. Now shut up. I'm going to head around back and find a way in. You stay here and keep watch."

Joe stuck out his tongue at his brother's retreating back. As Frank disappeared around the corner of the warehouse, the younger boy felt his apprehension grow once more.

Frank stole silently around the side of the warehouse, glad that he had chosen to wear rubber soled shoes that morning. His heart was thumping hard against his chest and the boy wished it would stop. He knew that what he was doing was both foolish and dangerous, and that Sam would be very angry when he found out, but Frank didn't care. His father was missing and that was all he cared about right now. And if this stupid move meant that he got some information that might help lead them to Fenton, so be it.

Reaching the back of the warehouse, Frank noticed that there were crates stacked high, one on top of the other, ending at a broken window. Adrenaline coursed through his veins; he could fit through there.

Without pausing to think, Frank started to climb the crates. He moved slowly and cautiously, keeping a close watch on the back door. When he reached the top, he pulled himself through the broken window, carefully avoiding the jagged edges.

Landing with a soft _whump_, Frank studied his surroundings. The room was large and filled with clutter. At the far corner he could see an upturned desk with a broken chair behind it and figured this had been the office once. The dark-haired teenager made his way as quietly as he could over the mounds of junk to the door at the far side. When he reached it, he placed his ear to the door and listened hard. There was nothing but silence on the other side.

Frank pulled the door open, wincing as it creaked a little. Peering out, he saw a long dark hallway with peeling paint and water dripping from the ceiling. but no movement. Stealthily, he moved down the hall to the stairwell at the far end and descended. As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, Frank found himself in a huge storage area where large boxes and crates were piled haphazardly everywhere. Studying his surroundings, the boy decided that the best course of action was to use the boxes as a way of staying hidden while he moved to the other side of the room.

Creeping silently along by the wall and remaining in the shadows as best he could, Frank could feel his heart hammering madly against his ribcage. He was only halfway across the room when had to stop and take a breath to calm himself. It was then he heard the low murmur of voices.

Listening for a minute or two, he realized that it was coming from a room maybe twelve feet away. Deciding to move closer in the hopes of hearing what was going on, he inched cautiously in that direction. The voices got louder as he did so.

"I say we get out of here tonight," a harsh voice was saying. "The Harris kid obviously isn't coming to Bayport. We've got the rest of the family and that should be enough to persuade Harris."

"Our orders are to recapture Riley Harris," a heavily accented voice answered. "We stay here until we do."

"But it's been a week," a third voice argued. "Shouldn't he be here by now?"

"It's possible he may be lying low," the accented voice conceded. "But our job is to wait until he resurfaces."

"But what if he's here already?" the third voice asked.

"We have the bus and train station covered," said the accented voice. "He couldn't have gotten past us."

"But what if he arrived another way?" the harsh voice countered.

There was silence. "That is a possibility," admitted the accented voice finally. "We may have to put a put a watch on the Hardy house."

"I don't know why he's coming here," put in the third voice. "We've already established that Hardy isn't here."

"We know Fenton Hardy is working our case for the FBI," the accented voice replied. "We don't know in what capacity but we can assume that is why he is not here in Bayport."

"I don't like not knowing where he is," the third voice complained. "How do we know what he's discovered?"

"I still don't know why you can't lure him out by kidnapping his family," the harsh voice put in. "It's not like it's something we haven't done before."

"Because we cannot draw more attention than necessary to the order," the accented voice informed him. "If we kidnap the Hardy family then the FBI will become aware that we know of Fenton Hardy's involvement in our case and it may lead them to our guy. We need a contact in the FBI until the open day."

Frank's eyes widened at the implication of a mole in the FBI and the potential danger that might place his father in.

The men were now speaking in lowered voices and Frank had to strain to hear what they were saying. His shoe squeaked slightly as he inched nearer to the door but the men inside didn't seem to hear him.

"So what do we do with her?" the man with the harsh voice was saying.

"She stays here until we get the other one. Then we take them all to the professor," the accented voice replied. "He can't continue to refuse us once he knows we have his entire family!"

"Who are you?" a loud voice demanded suddenly and rough hands grabbed Frank. The speaker spun him around and the oldest Hardy found himself staring into the face of Viktor Beschastnykh.

_**A/N:** Dun, dun, dun! :D Guess Frank and Joe have to make some mistakes before they become seasoned investigators. I'm giving a warning now, the next chapter is pretty violent. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and to anyone else reading, please let me know what you think (I see the hits, I know you're out there! ;p )._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"I asked you a question, kid!" the man growled at Frank.

"Ryan Johnson," Frank answered, deciding on a bluff. "I was just looking around; I didn't know anyone was here, honest!"

"Viktor?" the accented voice sounded from behind Frank. "Who's this?"

"A trespasser," Beschastnykh replied, his eyes never leaving Frank's face. "Said his name is Ryan Johnson."

"You don't believe him?"

"I want a closer look at him."

Frank was dragged into the room that he had been eavesdropping on. Unlike the rest of the warehouse which was drooping under a mixture of shadows and darkness, this room was lit by a harsh fluorescent bulb and the teenager found himself blinking against the glare. As his vision cleared, the figures of four large men loomed around him. His apprehension grew.

"Well, well," said the man with a scar running down his check. "What have we got here?"

"A spy by the looks of things," snarled the accented man.

"I'm no spy," declared Frank. "I was just looking around. I didn't know anyone would be here."

"Just looking around," repeated the man with the scar. "For what?"

Frank shrugged. "Just for stuff. Sometimes these old warehouses have things I can sell, you know?"

"Cut the crap!" snarled Beschastnykh suddenly, shaking Frank. "Do you think I'm stupid, kid?" Apprehension growing, Frank shook his head. Beschastnykh put his face close to Frank's. "Then don't lie. I know who you are, Frank Hardy!"

Every ounce of blood in Frank's veins turned to ice and his breath caught in his throat.

Beschastnykh gave a cold smile at the fear on the teenager's face. "Where's your brother?"

"At home," Frank replied then cried out as the man with the scar drove a fist into his stomach.

"Don't lie to me, Frank," whispered Beschastnykh in his ear. "I hate being lied to. Where is your brother?"

"He's at home," Frank wheezed, and was rewarded with another punch to the stomach. Doubled over and gasping, the Hardy boy could hear Beschastnykh tutting. "Tsk, tsk, Frank," he said calmly. "I thought you were supposed to be smart? Now, tell me, where is your brother?"

"I already told you, he's at home."

This time Frank received a sharp knee to the stomach and a brutal elbow to the back of the neck, followed by a swift punch to the mouth. Falling to his knees, the teenager tasted blood.

Beschastnykh crouched down beside him and grabbed his hair. "Frank, I know you and your brother go everywhere together so I'm going to ask you again. Where is your brother?"

"He's at home," Frank insisted. A hard blow cracked off his jaw and the world listed crazily. Another sharp kick was delivered to his side as he pitched forward. Several more blows rained down on him leaving him gasping for air.

"Check outside for the brother," Beschastnykh ordered.

Bright lights flashing behind his eyes, Frank groaned inwardly and prayed that Joe would remain hidden. He was aware of Beschastnykh saying something else but ignored him and focused on using his remaining energy to maintain consciousness.

As the world rocked and tilted crazily around him, Frank heard a voice call, "there's no one outside" and felt a surge of triumph. Joe was safe.

But Beschastnykh wasn't giving up. "Where is your brother, Frank?"

"At home," Frank whispered, feeling his strength ebb away with every word.

"Why isn't he with you? Didn't Daddy send the two of you to spy on me?"

"Not spying for Dad," Frank mumbled. "Was dropping a friend to the bus station and saw you walking out. Followed you." Rough hands seized his neck but didn't squeeze. The implied threat was enough.

"Why did you follow me, Frank?" asked Beschastnykh, his voice dangerously soft.

"Saw your picture in Dad's files before he left. Know you're wanted by the FBI and followed you to see where you went." The grip on his neck tightened imperceptibly.

"Don't lie to me, Frank."

"Not lying," the teenager lied, hoping they would believe him. The hands were removed from his neck.

"I don't think he's lying," said the man with the accent.

"How do you know?" the harsh voice of the man with the scar jarred discordantly with Frank's aching head. "He could be lying. Are we going to take that chance?"

"He's just a kid," argued the man with the accent. "He's probably too scared to lie."

"So what do we do with him?"

"We send a message to Fenton," Beschastnykh told them.

"I thought you didn't want to draw any attention to us?" asked the other man, the one without the accent.

"I don't," Beschastnykh growled. "But this kid has given me no choice, he's seen too much. Besides, I think the death of one of his sons may deter Fenton from any further investigating!"

Frank felt cold fear wash over him. Men like this didn't bluff. If they said they were going to kill him then they would kill him.

"Get our guest and put her in the van," Beschastnykh ordered. "You, get the gasoline."

"What do we need gas for?" asked the man with the scar as footsteps moved away.

"We're going to torch this place," Beschastnykh replied calmly. "It's full of junk…should go up like a paper house."

"What? Why?"

"This location is no longer secure. We can't take the chance that someone was with him when he tailed us; so we relocate and destroy any evidence."

"What about him?" Frank felt a foot jab his leg.

"He burns with the building."

"How will that send a message?" snorted the man with a scar.

"Because I will make sure Fenton Hardy knows his death was no accident."

"How?"

"You'll see." Frank could hear the cold smile in Beschastnykh's voice. "I will leave the clear up in your capable hands, Vogel." Heavy boots moved towards the door, then stopped. "Don't kill him outright. Incapacitate him but make it obvious, I want Hardy to know his son died in agony."

As he heard Beschastnykh leave the room, Frank felt rough hands seize him and drag him towards the door. The teenager tried to struggle but the blows had rendered him incapable of movement. He was dropped unceremoniously in a heap on the floor and felt someone yank his arms above his head before binding them roughly to something.

Using every ounce of strength he possessed, Frank managed to wrench his eyes open just in time to see the man with the scar crouching over him, a crowbar poised in midair. The man smiled evilly at him. "Just making sure you don't go anywhere before the big finale. Night night, Frankie!"

The teenager's eyes widened in horror as the crowbar swung down. There was a loud crack and a violent explosion of pain. And then there was absolutely nothing.

**xxx**

Dusk was falling and Joe was starting to fidget when the front door of the warehouse opened. In the dim light, Joe could just discern the man with the scar. His eyes scanned the docks and surrounding area. The blond boy watched as he walked over to a large, disused crane that had been used to unload cargo ships in the past but now was little more than an enormous rust bucket. The man climbed up and looked into the cab.

_What's he doing?_ Joe wondered as the man jumped down again and sauntered over to some empty storage containers. Pausing to light a cigarette, the man leaned up against one and peered inside before moving to the next one and doing the same thing. _He's looking for someone,_ _I need to get out of here before he finds me!_ Casting his eyes around for somewhere to hide, Joe could see there was nowhere to hide behind the crudely stacked pallets. The boy peeked through the crack in the pallets again and froze. The man was coming in his direction.

Heart racing, the teenager looked around wildly for an escape route and his eyes landed on a small ladder leading down to the water. Quickly Joe hurried to the ladder and climbed down. He had only descended a few rungs when he realized that he would be spotted immediately if the man decided to look down. Thinking quickly, the boy swung himself behind the ladder so that he was standing directly beneath the dock. Positioning his feet sideways on the rungs so that they wouldn't be seen poking out, Joe waited with baited breath. It was several minutes before he heard the clomp of heavy footsteps overhead. They stopped directly above him. Frozen with fear, his arms straining from holding onto the ladder without the full support of his feet, Joe closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the rungs. The man above him didn't move, lingering instead in watchful silence. The blond boy's shoulders started to burn from the strain and he gritted his teeth in an attempt to remain quiet. It felt like an eternity before Joe saw a cigarette fly past his face into the water below and heard the clomp of heavy feet moving away. Unable to hold it in any longer, he exhaled loudly and moved his feet so that they were planted firmly on the rung of the ladder, giving support to his aching shoulders. Heart thumping, he strained to listen but heard nothing aside from the gentle lap of the water against the dock. Pulling himself around on the ladder again, Joe climbed up. When he reached the top, he pressed himself against the pallets again and peered through the cracks. There was no sign of the man with the scar.

Joe was unsure what to do. The man had obviously been looking for someone, was it him? Had the men discovered Frank? He felt a sharp dart of fear at the prospect of his brother in the hands of these men.

_What do I do?_ he thought helplessly. On the one hand, Frank could be fine and if Joe were to follow him he might get them both in some very serious trouble. But on the other, what if Frank was already in trouble? Joe dithered, unsure what to do. Rushing to the rescue had got him into trouble on more than one occasion. He needed a plan. _Think, Joe, think!_

Glancing over the harbor to the top of the docks where Chet was waiting for them, Joe thought about getting his friend to go for help while he kept watch on the warehouse. _But that would mean having to go all the way back up to him_, Joe realized. Chet might have Frank's cell phone but Joe didn't have his. Frank was always berating him for forgetting it.

"You never know when you're going to need it," he always insisted.

Well, Joe needed it now and he was kicking himself that he didn't have it. _That thirty minutes must be nearly up by now_, he told himself. Chet had promised to call the police if they didn't return within that time, and he must have gotten through to Sam or Con by now.

That took care of backup coming so Joe returned to the more immediate problem, what had happened to his brother? Frank hadn't said how long he would be, but the younger boy was getting uneasy. His brother had been gone for longer than he expected; should a quick appraisal of the situation take this long?

Joe glanced across the harbor again. The only movement was the twinkling of lights from the warehouses reflecting on the water and the cars on the road above. Chet would be calling for help soon but help would take time to arrive and if Frank really was in trouble, could he afford to wait?

A noise from the other side of the pallets drew Joe's attention and the boy peered through the crack once more. A man had come out again and climbed into the SUV. Starting it up, he reversed back towards the warehouse. Leaving the engine running, he climbed out and went to the back of the vehicle before opening the trunk. Joe strained to see what was happening through the narrow crack but it was impossible, especially in the gathering dusk. He heard the trunk being slammed shut and saw two men climbing back into the SUV but couldn't tell if any of them was Beschastnykh. A third man exited the warehouse and joined them in the SUV and Joe heard the engine rev before the car pulled out.

As the rumble of the engine died away, Joe considered the situation. He hadn't been able to see the figures clearly but he was certain that none of them were Frank. Hope fluttered in his stomach. Maybe Frank was okay? The blond boy counted slowly in his head; one minute, two minutes, three minutes…but there was still no sign of Frank. Anxiety and alarm returning, Joe exited from behind the pallets and looked around. The area was deserted. He glanced back at the warehouse and felt his heart skip a beat.

There was smoke pouring from the windows of the building.

Without pausing to think, Joe dashed over to the warehouse. He pulled open the front door only to stagger back, coughing, as a wall of fire and smoke hit him.

"Frank!" he called. "FRANK!"

After making several attempts to get past the flames, Joe admitted defeat and raced around the side of the warehouse, his eyes darting frantically for signs of his brother or a way into the building.

Another door led into the warehouse at the back of the building and Joe made straight for it. "FRANK!" he yelled, rattling the door handle. It was locked. "FRANK!" the blond teenager screamed loudly, kicking the door as he tried to yank it open. "FRANK!"

Flames were now trickling out the windows and licking up the sides of the wall as panic seized hold of Joe. "FRANK!" he shouted desperately, ramming his shoulder into the door several times with every ounce of strength he possessed. It didn't budge. His eyes watering and coughing from the smoke, Joe put his hands on his head in panic and stepped back from the building.

"FRANK!" he screamed, terror, horror, panic and desperation raging inside him. "Oh, please God…FRANK!"

It was then that Joe spotted the pile of crates stacked one on top of the other that led up to a broken window; the very means Frank had used to enter the building a short while before.

A small bubble of hope formed and he raced over to the crates. He climbed onto the first crate and was just about to heave himself onto the second when a strong arm snaked around his neck and yanked him backwards. Piercing, vicious pain entered him and nearly split him in two, sending jagged waves of agony coursing through him. His arms and legs went numb.

"I knew you had to be around here somewhere," said a voice in his ear as someone dragged him back. He opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out, he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. He tried to take a deep breath but felt crushing pain in his chest while a rattling sound echoed up his throat. Something wet slid down his back.

And still the man behind him dragged him backwards. Joe tried to struggle but all he could manage was a slight kick of his feet. They were almost to the edge of the pier when the man spun Joe around to face him and the boy felt himself sliding downwards. A strong hand seized him by the throat to keep him standing. Cold, steel-grey eyes bore deep into his and Joe recognized the man with the scar that he and Frank had seen earlier. He clawed weakly at the man's hand.

"You should have stayed out of our business, kid," the man shouted over the roar of the flames, holding a blood-smeared knife in front of Joe's face.

_My blood_, Joe realized as pain surged up his spine making pinpricks of light dance before his eyes.

"Time to join your brother," the man taunted, bringing his face close to the teenager's. With a quick flick of his wrist, the man drove the knife into Joe's stomach. Shivers of cold agony shattered through him and a gargled cry of pain escaped from his throat. As the world changed from bright lights to dark shadows, the only thing Joe could see was the scarred man's face smiling. Time slowed down and as a haze of pain rolled in between him and the rest of the world. The man smiled and released him. The last thing the boy was aware of was pitching backwards into oblivion.

**xxx**

Chet was beyond anxious. Nearly thirty minutes had passed since Frank and Joe had left and the stout boy could see no sign of them returning. Nor had he managed to get through to Sam or Con.

_I knew this was a bad idea! Something's happened, I just know it!_ Chet fretted.

He should have talked the Hardy brothers out of ever following Beschastnykh from the bus station. Sam had warned them not to do anything. They should have listened. He paced frantically beside the Hardys' car, constantly returning to the guard rail to look out over the docks. He checked the time again.

_They've got five more minutes and then I'm calling the police!_

A flash of light caught his attention and Chet peered out over the guard rail. An SUV was winding its way slowly back up the docks. It was dark in colour and instinct made him duck down beside the Hardy's car. Fear coursing through him, Chet could hear the rumble of an engine as a car approached. He crawled forward on his hands and knees and tried to look around the back of the car. His fear and apprehension grew as a dark blue SUV exited the entrance to the docks and turned right. The three dark figures inside the vehicle never saw the teenager on his hands and knees watching them drive off.

_ADX 5197, ADX 5197, ADX 5197!_ Chet chanted to himself as the SUV disappeared from sight.

It hadn't occurred to him when they were tailing the SUV to take the license plate number, and he knew the Hardy brothers would have automatically done that, but Chet had a bad feeling that he would need every bit of information he could remember later.

Frank's cell phone rang suddenly, startling him and making him jump. "Ouch!" he cried as he hit his head off the car fender. Simultaneously rubbing the bump and grabbing for the ringing phone, Chet looked down to see Con's name flashing up at him.

"Con!" he cried loudly answering the call. "Where have you been?"

"Frank, is that you?" the officer's voice sounded bewildered.

"No, it's Chet Morton," he gasped standing up and throwing his gaze back down to the docks.

"Chet, why do you have Frank's phone?"

"He gave it to me to try and reach you or Sam," Chet babbled. "But I haven't been able to and I think they're in trouble!"

"What do you mean? Who's in trouble?"

"Frank and Joe!"

The officer's voice was sharp. "Chet, where are you?"

"At the docks. Frank and Joe tailed that Biccie guy from the bus station to here."

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know!" Chet wailed. "They followed him down the pier to see where he went but that was almost thirty minutes ago and they're still not back! And that Breskitch guy just left with two others!"

"Chet, stay right where you are," Con commanded. "I'll be there with a unit as quick as I can!"

The officer hung up and Chet was left alone with his frantic worry once more. _Where are you guys?_ he moaned inwardly, his eyes scanning the length of the pier and surrounding docks. Movement and a slight flicker caught his gaze and Chet leaned further over the railing to see what it was. His eyes widened as he recognized smoke curling slowly into the night sky.

A jolt of adrenaline surged through him. _There's a building on fire!_

Somehow he didn't think it was a coincidence that the smoke was coming from the same direction in which Frank and Joe had gone. Forgetting what Con had just told him, Chet took off in a run down the pier.

_**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and a big yay for LazyPanther who spotted the nods to Supernatural, I was wondering if anyone would! :D_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Forgetting that Con had told him to wait, forgetting to call the fire brigade, forgetting that these were dangerous men, forgetting everything, Chet Morton ran. He ran like he had never ran in his life before.

Siren's wailed somewhere in the distance but Chet was oblivious to them. His breath was coming in short, piercing gasps and his heart was pounding as he egged himself on. _Come on, Chet, run! That's it, you can do it! One foot in front of the other! Run!_

"I can't!" Chet gasped, his pace slowing.

_You can, you have to! Frank and Joe are counting on you!_

"Arrrrrrrghhhh!" Chet grunted and forced himself forward. His head throbbed dizzily and blood pounded in his ears. The end of the dock came in sight.

_Nearly there, _he told himself, trying to ignore the pangs in his chest. _Come on, Chet, you can do it; Frank and Joe need help!_

Fear helped him run the last few feet and as he rounded the corner and skidded to a halt, the boy tripped and tumbled to the ground. Gasping and panting, Chet looked up…and felt his mouth drop open in shock.

An inferno raged before him, flames dancing upwards towards the sky. The night air was thick with smoke and the smell of gasoline. Shock immobilized Chet.

The boy was still on his hands and knees several minutes later as two fire engines rushed past and screeched to a halt in front of the burning warehouse. Chet was only dimly aware of firefighters pouring from the trucks and springing into action. Disjointed shouts carried towards him over the roar of the flames but Chet remained senseless to the mayhem around him.

"Son, are you okay?"

Chet looked up, uncomprehending, at a tall fireman.

"I said, are you okay?" asked the man, his face a mask of concern.

Chet shook his head and whispered, "Frank…Joe."

"Who's Frank and Joe?" the man asked gently, crouching down beside him.

"My friends."

"Your friends? Where−" Understanding flooded the firefighter's face and his gentle tone disappeared in an instant. "Are you saying your friends are in there?"

Chet nodded dumbly.

In a flash, the fireman was on his feet and sprinting back towards the trucks shouting urgently. Chet, still on his hands and knees, watched as a gush of water hit the building and several firefighters disappeared into the flames. Another fire engine wailed past him followed closely by an ambulance.

"Chet, what's going on?" Hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet before the concerned face of Con Riley came into view. "Are you okay? Where's Frank and Joe?"

Chet lifted a trembling finger and pointed towards the glowing building.

The colour drained from Con's face. "Oh, dear God."

The officer didn't ask any more questions. He and Chet stood side by side watching in mute horror as firefighters battled the blaze. It seemed an eternity before a team of firefighters emerged empty handed from the building and passed over quickly to the waiting team who immediately plunged into the howling flames.

Several minutes passed and Chet thought he might be sick. "I should have called for help sooner," he whispered.

"What?" said Con, hearing the teenager speak. "What was that, Chet?"

Chet shook his head, and Con noticed how pale he was beneath his smoke-smeared face. "I should have called for help sooner," the teenager repeated softly, his eyes never leaving the burning building.

"Chet, this isn't your fault," Con tried to soothe the anguished teen.

Chet shook his head again. "I shouldn't have let them go."

"You couldn't have stopped them. Frank and Joe can be pretty stubborn when they put their minds to something."

Chet wasn't listening. "If anything happens, it's my fault. I should have known!"

Excited shouting prevented Con from responding and they turned just in time to see firefighters exiting the building. One of them had a limp form slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "We've got a live one!" he shouted.

Chet and Con immediately broke into a run. They reached the fireman just as he lowered the limp form onto a gurney. "Stand back!" a paramedic ordered before turning back to where his colleague was placing an oxygen mask on the still figure.

"Come on guys, give them room to work," said the firefighter who had carried out the injured boy, holding up his hands in a pacifying yet blocking gesture.

"We just want to see…" Chet tried to explain as the firefighter's stance forced them back several paces.

"Just give them a few minutes," the firefighter told him gently.

"Is he okay?" Chet whispered.

Even through his oxygen mask, Chet could see the man's sympathetic expression. "He's alive," was all he said. As the man hurried to rejoin his company fighting the blaze, Chet returned his attention to the gurney where the paramedics were working frantically.

Broken fragments of what they were saying floated back to Chet over the roar of the flames. "CT scan…more gauze…partial thickness burns…pulse rate…" Just then, one of the paramedics moved and Chet was able to get a view of the person on the gurney. It was Frank. His heart plunged so fast, it hurt.

The older Hardy boy's left arm was badly burnt, and the blistered, scalded flesh made Chet feel ill. Con Riley looked equally revolted.

When one of the paramedics went to retrieve something from the ambulance, Chet took the opportunity to move a little closer. "Frank?" he whispered, but got no response. The paramedic returned and brushed past him, barely seeing him as he continued to work on Frank. Chet moved to the head of the gurney so he could be near Frank without getting in the paramedics' way. As he looked down at his friend's unconscious face, Chet noticed the open wound on the right side of his head. It was large and bleeding so profusely that his hair was matted. Chet swallowed. Hard. He had no first aid training but even he knew enough to see that Frank was in bad shape.

A loud wrenching sound filled the air and Chet looked up just in time to see several firemen run from the building. In fact, they all seemed to be running away from the building. Chet didn't understand why; although still burning, the warehouse was no longer the raging inferno it had been when he arrived. A loud groan like an animal in pain rent the air and as the firefighters scattered, the warehouse started to collapse in on itself.

The roof was the first to go, smashing downwards in a cloud of smoke and dust before the upper walls began to crumble inwards and debris rained to the ground. The collapsing brickwork smothered some of the flames but sent out a thick plume of acrid-smelling black smoke. The firefighters were still battling the flames but their movements were slower and less urgent as the fire came under control.

But there would be no more survivors pulled from the building.

Somewhere within his haze of shock, Chet could hear someone yelling but he couldn't hear what they were saying. The shouts of the people around him had merged into one loud din. The yelling grew louder and Chet was aware of his legs propelling themselves forwards without any participation from him. The only reality for him now was the building being slowly eaten by fire. His legs moved faster and the sound of someone calling a name cut through the din in his head.

"Joe!"

Something flung itself across his chest and Chet felt himself ping like a rubber band as he was brought to a halt. The boy struggled furiously to extricate himself from the person keeping a strong grip on him. He had to get away. He had to get to the building in front of him.

But the person refused to let go and Chet gradually became aware that it was he who was screaming. "JOE!" he roared, thrashing in the arms that held him there. "Let me go, we've got to save him. JOE! Let me GO!"

"Chet, no," the broken voice of Con Radley sounded behind him. "You can't save him. Chet…stop," he grunted as the stout boy continued to struggle. "Chet, it's too late…he's gone…CHET!" Slowly the boy became still in his arms and Con turned him around to face him. Chet stared blankly at him.

"Chet?" Con prompted softly. "Are you okay?" Mute, Chet shook his head and Con put his arm around the teenager's shoulders. "Come on," he said, sounding as though it hurt to speak. "Let's go back to Frank."

They moved slowly back to the ambulance. The paramedics had just finished attending to Frank and were getting ready to load him into the ambulance. "Is he okay?" the first paramedic asked, pointing to Chet as he and Con drew level with them.

The officer shook his head. "I think he's in shock."

"You'd better get him to the hospital," the paramedic told him.

Con nodded then glanced at Frank. "Will he be okay?"

"I don't know."

"Hey, he's awake!" the other paramedic exclaimed suddenly.

Con, Chet and the two paramedics bent over the gurney. Sure enough, Frank's eyes were open but Con noticed at once that they weren't focusing on anything. His lips moved beneath the oxygen mask.

"What was that, Frank?" he asked softly, leaning in closer.

"Not here…home," the boy mumbled.

"What's not here?" Con kept his tone low and gentle.

"Joe…home."

Con swallowed. "That's right, Joe's at home."

Briefly, Frank's eyes fixed on Con's in recognition before his gaze slid out of focus again. "No, Joe waiting."

"That's right, Joe's at home waiting," said Con soothingly. Frank shook his head then moaned in pain.

"Okay," the paramedic interrupted. "That's enough. We need to get him to the hospital now." The paramedics positioned themselves at either end of the gurney and gently pulled it into an upright position.

As they slowly rolled it towards the back of the ambulance, Con walked alongside Frank, his gaze never leaving the teenager's face. Frank's eyes were closed again but Con knew he was still conscious by the way his mouth was pulled taut over gritted teeth and the way his breathing was coming in the short jagged gasps of someone in pain.

The officer felt a hand seize his arm. Looking down, he could see Frank had latched the fingers of his good arm onto Con's shirt sleeve. "What is it, Frank?"

"Joe," Frank hissed through gritted teeth. "Waiting…for me."

"That's right," said Con, gently placing Frank's hand back on the gurney. "Joe's at home waiting for you."

"No!" The words were more ground out than spoken and Con could see agitation flit across Frank's pain-etched face. "Not home! Not…home."

"Frank, I don't understand," said Con softly. "What are you saying?"

"Joe…wait…for me…" Frank moaned in pain again.

They were at the back of the ambulance. "We need to load him, officer," said the paramedic. Con nodded and stepped back but Frank's eyes flew open.

"Here," he gasped, his expression desperate. "Joe…wait out…here…"

"Are you saying that Joe waited outside, Frank?" asked Con sharply, beginning to understand.

"Spinning," Frank mumbled then leaned over and vomited over the side of the gurney as the paramedic frantically tried to remove the oxygen mask.

"We need to get out of here now!" the other paramedic roared as Frank started to convulse. Con could do nothing but watch helplessly as they slid the gurney down and lifted it into the ambulance. The doors slammed shut and the ambulance pulled out, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

"Con?"

The officer turned around to find Chief Collig in plainclothes. "Officer Samson called me at home. I drove straight here. The Fire Chief just filled me in. Who did they pull from the fire?"

"Frank."

"Will he be okay?"

"I don't know. Where's Chet?"

"Over there," Chief Collig jerked his thumb in the direction of a forlorn figure standing still and staring at the remains of the still-burning warehouse. "You'd better get him to the hospital, I think he's in shock."

Con shook his head. "Chief, I need to find Joe."

"The firefighters will do a recovery when the fire is completely out," replied the Chief gently, his eyes sad. "They'll take Joe out then."

"No, you don't understand…Chief, I don't think Joe was in that building."

"What are you talking about? The Morton boy was a witness and he said−"

"He wasn't a witness!" Con interrupted him. "Chet waited somewhere further up the docks for Frank and Joe, he didn't see them enter the building!"

Chief Collig looked confused. "But he was here when you arrived. And Samson said Chet was the one to ring you and tell you the Hardy brothers were missing."

"No." Con's brain was whirling. "I rang Frank but Chet had his phone. He said the boys had tailed Beschastnykh from the station…I think he was somewhere further up the docks because he saw those guys leave and he said Frank and Joe had gone _down_ the pier! Chet probably came running down here when he saw the fire and assumed both boys were inside!"

"What men? Who's…?" Chief Collig shook his head. "Never mind. Tell me later. What makes you think Joe wasn't in that building?"

"Frank said something. He wasn't very coherent but I think he was trying to tell me that Joe wasn't inside!"

"Then where is he?"

"He has to be around here somewhere," Con replied. "Chief, it makes sense! If Frank and Joe were both in that building then they would have been found together. Besides, they both know better than to enter a building without leaving someone outside on watch…I think Joe was out here somewhere on lookout."

"I'll organize the officers," said Chief Collig at once. "We'll do a sweep of this entire area."

"I'll get started over…" Con's voice trailed off as he caught sight of Chet. He had forgotten about him. "What about Chet?"

They both stared at the silent figure. "I'll take him to the hospital," Chief Collig offered quietly. "I need to call Laura Hardy anyway."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"Nothing until I know for sure what's happened." Con nodded and the police chief looked him squarely in the eyes. "Con, I'll want answers for all of this later, understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

**xxx**

Sam Radley's hands were still shaking when he rushed through the front door of Bayport General. He had been en-route to Washington for the second time in only a matter of days after a cryptic call from his contact at the bureau. Jake had found something but refused to discuss it over the phone, pleading with the detective to come to the capital immediately.

"Sam, this can't wait," he had insisted urgently.

Concerned, Sam had left for Washington at once. It was only when he stopped for gas and to check in with his wife and the Hardys that he realized his cell phone was dead. Frustrated Sam went in search of a payphone and called Ethel first. He was startled to be greeted by his wife's frantic tone.

"Why isn't your cell on?" she demanded.

"The battery died," he replied, bewildered. "Why? What's going on?"

"Frank Hardy is in the hospital and Joe's missing!" Ethel sobbed. "There was a huge fire down at the docks, an entire building was gutted! Chief Collig himself rang me…I couldn't get through to you!"

"Where is Chief Collig now?" Sam demanded, his mind racing. What the hell had happened? He had warned Frank and Joe not to do anything. "Have you talked to Con Riley?"

"Chief Collig is at the hospital," she replied shakily. "I haven't heard from Con."

"I'm coming back right now," he told her. "I'll call you from the hospital as soon as I have news."

The detective had left a panicked message for his FBI contact before jumping in his car and driving pell-mell back to Bayport.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled hurriedly to each person he bumped into as he rushed down the halls of the hospital. Skidding to a halt in front of the waiting room, Sam hurried in. "Chief Collig," he gasped, spotting the rotund Police Chief immediately. What's going on? How's Frank?"

"We don't know yet," the officer replied. "Sam, where have you been?"

"I'll explain later, where's Laura?"

"A doctor came to get her a while ago and she hasn't been back since," said Chief Collig, looking worried.

"Any sign of Joe?"

The Chief shook his head. "Not yet. My officers are searching the docks now."

Just then, Sam caught sight of Chet sitting silently in a seat behind Chief Collig. "Chet!" he cried. "What happened?"

The boy barely glanced at him and Chief Collig gently pushed Sam back. "Easy," he whispered. "The doctors have treated him for shock. I'm just waiting for the Mortons to arrive. We'll get the answers when he's ready," he added, as Sam opened his mouth to argue. "The boy needs time, Sam."

"What about Con?" Sam demanded, frustrated and wanting answers. "Where is he?"

"Still at the docks, searching for Joe. Sam, I can fill you in on what I know."

Quickly the Police Chief informed Sam about the Hardys and Chet tailing someone to the docks and what little he knew that had happened up until Frank's dramatic rescue and his words to Con before being loaded into the ambulance. "When Con gets back and Chet comes around, we'll get the full story," Chief Collig finished.

At that moment, the Mortons hurried into the waiting room. Mrs. Morton immediately threw herself on her son with a shriek and hugged him tightly while Mr. Morton gripped the Police Chief's hand tightly and greeted him in a low voice. But he never took his eyes off his son. Iola hovered silently behind her mother, biting her lip.

They were interrupted by a cackle as the PA system came to life and an announcement sounded. "Could Sam Radley please contact reception for a call. That's Sam Radley to reception for a call, please."

The others looked at him.

"It's probably Ethel looking for news," he explained. "My cell is dead. I'd better take it. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Striding out to the hall and moving swiftly towards the reception area, Sam knew the phone call wouldn't be from his wife. He had told Ethel he would call her as soon as he had news. "Hi," he greeted the receptionist at the desk. "I'm Sam Radley, I believe I have a phone call?"

"Of course, Mr. Radley," said the girl politely. "Just pick up that phone on the desk when it rings." The girl turned her attention to the switchboard and hit some buttons; seconds later the phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Sam?"

"Yes."

"It's Con. Meet me in the A & E." The line went dead leaving Sam staring at the receiver in his hand. _Oh that can't be good._

"Thanks," he told the girl on the desk then turned and ran in the direction of the A & E department. Hurrying through the double doors, he found that the A & E was its usual hive of activity. He could see no sign of Con. "Excuse me," he said breathlessly to the orderly passing. "Have you seen a police officer? He may have come in here in the last few minutes."

The orderly shook his head.

"Okay, thank you." Sam headed for the double doors that opened out to the ambulance bay. Con was probably outside. He was almost to the doors when he heard someone call his name. Looking to his left, he saw Con slumped against a wall. Sam felt his heart skip a beat. The officer had blood on his white t-shirt.

"Con, what happened?" he exclaimed, dashing over to his friend. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," said Con wearily, waving him away. "It's not my blood."

"Whose…?"

"Joe's. That's why I paged you to come here, I didn't want Laura to see me. How's Frank?"

"I don't know, I only just arrived. How did you know I was here?"

"When I couldn't get you on your cell, I rang your house and Ethel told me you should be here by now. She said your cell was dead so that's why I rang the main desk."

"Con," Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from the blood smeared shirt. "Where's Joe? And what in God's name happened?"

"In trauma; they're prepping him for surgery. He's got two stab wounds, one to the stomach and one to the upper back; it punctured his lung."

"Christ! How the hell are we going to tell Laura?" Sam was shaking. He couldn't believe this. "Con, what _happened_? Chet's in shock and not saying anything, what were the boys _thinking_?"

"They tailed Beschastnykh from the station," replied Con. "Best I can figure out, they took it on themselves to do it when they couldn't get either one of us on our cells."

"My damn cell went dead!" said Sam hoarsely.

Con shook his head in remorse. "I was responding to a domestic disturbance in West Sayville and I left my cell phone in the squad car. I didn't think to check it until I got back to the station because I assumed they'd be able to reach you."

"So they felt they had no choice but to tail Beschastnykh," said Sam bitterly. "God, I am such an idiot! What was I thinking sending three teenagers on a surveillance like that!"

Con tried to reassure him. "Fenton lets them work cases all the time−"

"Counterfeit cases! Fraud cases! Cases where little old ladies have lost their damn poodles! He would never have them work something as dangerous as this!"

"But you did warn them not to do anything other than see if Beschastnykh and his cronies arrived at the station−"

"Con, their father is missing! I should have known if the opportunity arose to find out something about his whereabouts that they'd take it! And I call myself a detective." Sam shook his head in self-loathing and disgust.

Con didn't know what else to say. He too felt guilty, but they had a bigger concern right now; they would have to break the news to Laura about Joe just a short time after a seriously injured Frank had been rushed to the hospital. With her husband missing, Laura had already been under enough pressure before the events of tonight and Con was worried about how she would cope. "Sam, we can compare notes later. Right now, we have a bigger problem; what do we tell Laura?"

"You can start by telling her what the hell happened to her children this evening!" a shrill voice sounded behind them. Hearts sinking, the two men turned to find a concerned looking Chief Collig and a wild-eyed Laura Hardy standing behind them.

_**A/N:** Lotsa drama this chapter, don't hate me for torturing the boys! And remember, reviews are loved! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Well?" Laura demanded as the two men stared, dumbfounded, at her. "And don't you dare try and fob me off, Sam Radley, not about this! This has something to do with Fenton's case, doesn't it?"

"Laura, they were just on a surveillance," Sam began, "nothing like this was supposed to happen−"

"Surveillance? _Surveillance?_" she screeched angrily. "Sam, when I said you could let Frank and Joe help in the search for Fenton, it was supposed to be in a strictly desk-job capacity; looking at security tapes, reading files…you promised me you would keep them safe! You _promised_, Sam!"

The pain in her words reproached Sam bitterly. He had no response. Laura was right. "I'm sorry," was all he could say.

"Sorry!" she spat bitterly. "You want to tell that to Frank? He's in agony upstairs with second degree burns!" Tears filled her eyes. "And no one will tell me where Joe is!"

Con swallowed. "Actually, Laura," he interjected softly. "Joe was brought in about twenty minutes ago."

Her eyes widened. "He's here? Where is he? Is he okay?" Her gaze fell on Con's blood stained t-shirt. For a moment she didn't move before beginning to shake her head slowly. Her eyes came up to meet Con's and she stared at him with a frightened expression as she continued to shake her head.

"I'm sorry, Laura," he said in a low voice. "He's in trauma. They're prepping him for surgery."

"No," she said, still shaking her head. "No…this can't be happening…how…what…I don't understand." She looked at Con for some sort of explanation before her eyes went to the bloodstained t-shirt once more.

"I don't know what happened. The only thing I know is that he was stabbed."

"Stabbed?" she repeated. "You're telling me that someone stabbed my sixteen-year-old son?"

Con nodded. "I'm sorry."

She turned to Sam. "This is your idea of a surveillance?" she choked, her face white with rage and fear. "Where did you send them?"

"Just to the bus station. But they weren't supposed to do anything other than watch! Laura, I'm sorry−"

"Sorry?" she cried. "Sam, they're my children and you sent them to spy on dangerous criminals?"

"I didn't think this would−"

"You didn't think at all, that's the problem!" she raged at him as tears began to slide down her face. "I trusted you to keep them safe…I trusted you!"

"Laura, I'm sorry−"

"STOP SAYING THAT!" she screamed at him as she shoved him.

"Whoa, Laura, take it easy," Con told her gently as Sam stared in shock.

"Don't tell me what to do, Con," she rounded on him. "I'd be willing to bet that you knew they were going on this surveillance too and you did nothing to stop it, and that makes you as guilty as him!" She jabbed her finger in Sam's direction.

"Laura, we didn't know−"

"I don't care what you didn't know or didn't think," she told them, her voice choking on the words. "All I care about right now is that my sons will be okay." Her eyes fell on his blood stained t-shirt once more and she started to tremble. "Oh, God." Covering her face with her hands, she sank silently to a tight crouch in anguish.

"Go," Chief Collig mouthed, gesturing to Sam and Con to leave. "I'll take care of this."

Their hearts heavy, Con and Sam walked away. Sam glanced back just in time to see Chief Collig squat down and put his arms around the distraught woman.

**xxx**

"Here," a voice interrupted Con's troubled thoughts and a steaming cup of coffee entered his field of vision. The officer looked up to find Chief Collig standing over him.

"Thanks," said Con, taking the cup of coffee and taking a long swig. It tasted like cardboard.

"You thinking of changing careers?" the Police Chief queried, sitting beside Con.

"What?" Con was confused until he noticed his boss staring with raised eyebrows at the green hospital scrubs he was wearing. "Oh. A nice nurse took pity on me and gave me these to change into. Think I'd make a convincing doctor?" Con gave a weak smile as he attempted a jest.

"I think blue's more your colour. Any word on Joe?"

"He's in surgery. How's Laura?"

"Not good. The more I tried to calm her down the more upset she got so I left her with a nurse."

"I wish she hadn't seen me covered in…" He waved a hand in an expansive gesture.

Chief Collig nodded. "She heard the page for Sam. I had gone after him to the front desk and met her there. The girl at reception told her he'd gone in the direction of the A & E. I tried to stop her but…" His voice tailed off and he sighed. "Too late to do anything about it now, where's Sam?"

"Gone to call Ethel and…a friend." Con didn't want to mention Sam's FBI contact.

But the police chief had noticed the hesitation. "Con, I told you earlier that I would want answers for this evening and you agreed if I remember correctly."

"Yes, Sir."

Chief Collig fixed him with a stern gaze. "Start talking."

Con sighed and reluctantly told Chief Collig everything that had happened since Fenton's disappearance to date. The Police Chief's face was growing darker and darker with every word. When the officer finished his tale, Chief Collig shook his head.

"Con, I know you were trying to help a friend but you're a police officer and you had a duty to confide in me about what was going on, especially once you suspected that these men might be in Bayport; they're terrorists for crying out loud! And I have to admit, I'm disappointed that you didn't think you could trust me with this."

"It wasn't about trust. This was Fenton's investigation and he wanted things kept as covert as possible. I didn't feel it was my place to tell anyone about it. I'm sorry, Ezra."

The police chief sighed. "I know you are. What about Joe, where did you find him?"

Con looked at his hands. They were now free of blood but they still didn't feel clean. "Joe was at the docks, near the warehouse. I think someone pushed him off the pier after they stabbed him to get rid of any evidence in the bay."

"He was in the water?"

Con shook his head. "There was a small jetty about six feet below the main dock for unloading smaller boats and that's where I found Joe. I think whoever pushed him didn't even know it was there."

"They probably had to get out of there quickly after starting the fire," guessed Chief Collig in disgust. "How did you know it was there?"

"I didn't."

"You didn't?" the police chief looked surprised. "But then how did you find Joe?"

"Sheer dumb luck," Con replied, thinking back.

When an hour of fruitless searching at the dock had revealed no sign of the missing boy, the officer had begun to fear that he had been in the burning warehouse. Hope fading and frustration growing, he had kicked some of the debris from the warehouse, sending it skittering across the dock. A charred hubcap rolled halfway down the dock before abruptly veering left and rolling off the edge. When he heard a crash instead of a splash, a niggling little voice had insisted he check it out. The first thing the beam from his flashlight hit was Joe's face. He was still in shock that something so random had led him to finding the Hardy boy who otherwise would have lain there until daylight, slowly bleeding to death.

Con wasn't a man who believed in God, but he wasn't willing to put finding Joe down to a random coincidence either.

Flashes of climbing down to the little jetty and the sensation of kneeling in a warm pool of blood came back to haunt him and he swallowed. Despite the many things he had seen as an officer, feeling the wet warmth of the blood of someone he knew ooze through his fingers would rank as one of the most disturbing. Everything had merged into hazy memories after that as he moved into auto-pilot, using his uniform shirt to try and stem the bleeding while he roared for help.

"Con?" Chief Collig's voice broke through his disturbing recollections. "Maybe you should go home and get some sleep?"

Con shook his head as Sam Radley entered the waiting room. "Not until I know both boys are okay."

"Where's Laura?" asked Sam, joining them.

"She's with a nurse," Chief Collig replied. "Someone more sensitive than me."

"Any news on the boys?"

"Not yet."

Sam looked back towards the door. "What's taking so long?"

"Joe only went into surgery a little while ago," Chief Collig reminded him. "It'll be hours before he's out. And the doctors can't tell us anything on Frank until the results of his CT scan come back. You look exhausted…you both do. There's nothing more either of you can do here so why don't you go home and get some rest?"

They both stubbornly shook their heads. "I'm not leaving until I know the boys are okay," Sam insisted.

"And we can't leave Laura alone," Con added.

Ezra Collig was silent for a moment as he studied both men. Guilt was etched in their faces and remorse clouded their eyes. An air of exhaustion surrounded them both. He sighed. "Con, Sam, I'm only going to say this one more time…go home and get some rest. There's nothing more you can do here tonight. Con, you need a shower and some sleep, and you need to let this Riley kid know what's going on. Yes, Sam, he told me," added the police chief spotting the detective's quick glance. "And I should have been informed from the start. As for Laura, I know this isn't the easiest thing to hear but she doesn't want to see either of you right now. Give her space. I'll stay here tonight and call both of you first thing in the morning."

Sam and Con looked at one another. Neither one of them wanted to leave but there was too much wisdom in the police chief's words for them to argue. Sam glanced back at Chief Collig. "You'll call as soon as you have news?"

"I'll call you in the morning," Chief Collig reiterated. "Sam, today was a long day and tomorrow is going to be even longer; you need to rest."

"Okay," Sam conceded. "Con, I'll drop you home on the way. We can talk to Riley together."

The officer nodded, his eyes tired. "Ezra, I'll see you tomorrow."

The two men said their goodbyes and left, leaving Chief Collig in a reflective fugue. He had a mountain of paperwork and a massive investigation to launch after the events of the evening, not to mention his worry over the media attention that would be drawn when word got out. Cleaning up this mess without jeopardizing the covert nature of this case would be difficult and the police chief was also concerned about the boys' safety once these criminals discovered they had survived the brutal attacks. But before he could address any of that, he had a friend who desperately needed some support and went in search of Laura Hardy. Locating the A & E nurse who had helped him to comfort Laura, he enquired after her whereabouts and was told that she had insisted on returning to her son on the third floor.

_I should have known_, thought the police chief as he entered the elevator and hit three. It shuddered slightly as it started moving before gliding silently to the third floor. The doors pinged open to reveal an almost deserted corridor and the Police Chief had to search for several minutes to find a nurse who could point him in the direction of Frank's room. It was almost midnight and the hospital felt like a ghost town as the police chief tapped lightly on the door of Frank's hospital room.

A red-eyed Laura Hardy twisted around in her chair. "Ezra," she whispered. "Come in."

"How's Frank?" he asked softly, entering.

Laura's eyes returned to the still figure in the bed. "He's asleep."

Ezra Collig winced as he drew level with Laura and caught his first view of Frank. The teenager's face was bruised and swollen, an oxygen mask working hard to combat the smoke inhalation from the fire. A large bandage was wrapped around his head and an even larger one around his left arm. Even in his sleep, he looked like he was in pain.

"What did the doctors say?" he asked softly and watched as Laura's lower lip trembled.

"They said with a skin graft, his arm shouldn't scar too badly." Even though she was whispering, the police chief could hear the quiver in her voice. "But there's a lot of swelling−"

"The CT results came back?"

Laura nodded and tears spilled down her cheek. "He has a cracked skull," she choked out, trying to keep her voice low over the anguish, "and there's some bleeding. It's causing a lot of swelling and they're afraid of brain damage…they can't tell me yet if there's been any." A loud sob broke through her lips and she buried her face in her hands.

Chief Collig placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Frank is young and fit; he'll pull through."

"He keeps slipping in and out of consciousness," she gulped, not even hearing him. "But he's raving, he doesn't even recognize me! And when they cleaned the burn, he cried with pain. Frank, my Frank!" Shaking hands wiped the tears streaming down her face. "I asked if they'd give him something for the pain but they said they couldn't because of the swelling; they can't risk sedating him in case he falls into a coma," she continued, her hands gesturing helplessly towards her son. "He's in so much pain, Ezra and I can't help him. And Joe…" Fresh tears spilled down her face. "I don't even know if he's going to make it!" Choked sobs sounded as she buried her face in her hands again. Her shoulders heaved convulsively as she sobbed violently.

Chief Collig was lost for words and patted her shoulder helplessly in a 'there, there' gesture not knowing what to say and feeling hopelessly inadequate. He wished he were better at saying the right thing but unfortunately tact had never been one of his strong suits.

They remained in silence for several long minutes; Chief Collig standing awkwardly over the hunched and sobbing Laura, and Frank lying still as a statue in the hospital bed.

Finally Chief Collig made a decision. "Laura, you need a break. Come on." The officer guided the still sobbing woman to her feet.

"What about Frank?" she protested, hiccupping as he steered her towards the door. "I can't leave him."

"Frank is asleep," said Chief Collig firmly. "Besides, we're only going to the end of the hall. We won't be far away if he wakes."

Reluctantly, Laura allowed herself to be led to a vending machine at the end of the hall. She watched numbly as Chief Collig fed some coins into the slot before producing two cups of coffee. "I'm afraid it's not exactly starbucks," he said apologetically, handing her a cup.

"Thanks, Ezra," she replied, taking the proffered cup. She grimaced as she took a sip; hospital coffee always tasted like crap.

Gesturing to the seats behind them, Chief Collig waited until Laura sat down before joining her. "Laura, have you called Gertrude?"

She shook her head, her eyes going anxiously to Frank's door.

"Would you like me to call her?" he asked, gently drawing her attention away.

"I don't know how to contact her," Laura admitted tiredly. "She's on a cruise with some friends."

"Doesn't she know about Fenton?" the police chief was surprised.

Laura shook her head. "She left just before that phone call from Fenton. I didn't say anything when she called because I didn't want to worry her."

"Laura, I think maybe you need to fill her in on everything the next time she calls."

Laura snorted. "Right. You mean like Sam and Con kept me filled in on the truth behind my husband's disappearance?"

"They were only trying to protect you," Chief Collig pointed out gently.

"And what about my boys? Didn't protecting them matter?"

"Laura, neither of them meant for this to happen and they both feel terrible."

She closed her eyes and placed a hand over them. "I know they do. But, Ezra, I trusted Sam to keep them safe." Her hand fell helplessly to her lap. "If they don't come out of this, I swear, I'll never forgive him."

"Laura, this isn't Sam's fault. I know you're upset and you have a right to be, but blaming him for something he had no control over is not going to change things, or make you feel any better."

"They're my whole world, Ezra," she whispered. "And I nearly lost them tonight. I may have lost my husband already and I may still lose my sons so _don't_ tell me how to feel." Tears started to slide down her face again.

To Chief Collig, she looked like a broken woman. "Laura, I can't even begin to understand how you're feeling right now," he told her quietly. "But I know how quickly bitterness can eat away at a person until there's nothing left; don't let it destroy your friendship with Sam. He's a good man and a good friend."

Laura got to her feet. "I need to get back to Frank," she said flatly.

"Okay," said Chief Collig as she started to walk away. "But, Laura, please think about what I said."

She didn't respond.

**xxx**

Con's eyes were burning with tiredness as he trawled the halls of Bayport General looking for Chief Collig or Laura Hardy, neither of whom were in the waiting room. The officer had only managed to snatch a few minutes of sleep here and there the night before. His troubled thoughts had made it hard for him to drop off and when he finally did manage to doze, his mind was assaulted by disturbing images. To compound his worries, he and Sam had told Riley what had happened to Frank and Joe and the young man had been riddled with guilt. It had taken the better part of an hour to convince him not to leave Bayport at once. Con wasn't even sure if they had convinced him to stay put and worried that he might still attempt to leave when there was no one there to stop him.

He glanced at his watch. It was just after eight and even though Chief Collig had said he would call them in the morning, Con couldn't help but feel concerned that he hadn't contacted him with news on the boys by now. _I hope nothing more happened during the night._

The thought had no sooner occurred to him when he spotted Chief Collig at the far end of the corridor and unconsciously quickened his pace. "Chief!" he called, hurrying towards the older man. "Any word?"

The Police Chief turned tired eyes towards him. "Joe came out of surgery a few hours ago. He had a collapsed lung and when the surgeon went in, he found blood in the chest cavity as well. It took major surgery to repair the damage and he needed a chest tube. The knife nicked his stomach and they had to perform a laparatomy to repair the damage but his spleen was beyond repair; they had to remove it. He's on a ventilator and under heavy sedation in the ICU; they're only letting Laura into see him."

"Christ! What about Frank?"

"The swelling has stopped but the convulsions haven't. They don't know if there's been any brain damage yet and if the convulsions don't stop soon they won't be able to prevent anymore. They're considering surgery to alleviate the swelling but Frank is pretty fragile and the convulsions will make any surgery risky."

Con put a hand to his head. "How's Laura?"

"Not good. I tried to talk to her but I don't know if she listened. She's terrified, exhausted and worried, and not the most reasonable of people at the moment."

"Can you blame her?"

"Not really." Chief Collig sighed and indicated they should walk. "She's with Joe at the moment. I was just on my way to call you and Sam now. I got a call from the station this morning; the media have gotten wind of what happened last night and they're having a field day with it. It's only a matter of time before Frank and Joe's names get mentioned. I need to organize security for their rooms and make sure no one knows about Chet."

Con looked aghast. "I didn't even think of that last night and we left the hospital!"

"You needed rest. Besides, I was here."

"We should have been here," Con muttered.

"You're here today," Chief Collig replied firmly, as they stopped beside the elevator and pushed a button. The doors slid open. "Now, I've got to go. Aside from damage control, I need to interview the man who called the fire brigade last night, see if he saw anything. I'll call you if he gives me anything.

"I'll keep you updated on the boys," Con told him, watching as the police chief slowly disappeared behind the elevator doors. Exhaling deeply, he took out his cell phone. _I'd better call Sam_.

Con listened patiently to the ringing on the other end until the hoarse, tired voice of Sam Radley answered. "Hello?"

"Sam, I'm at the hospital and−never mind!" Con had just spotted the detective rounding the corner at end of the corridor. He waved and Sam saw him. Disconnecting his phone, the detective hurried over to Con.

"How are the boys?" he asked at once.

"The news isn't great," Con replied grimly and repeated what Chief Collig had told him.

Sam's expression grew even more somber. "I don't like the sound of that. If these guys decide to finish what they started, Frank and Joe will be sitting ducks! Do you think a guard on each of their doors will be deterrent enough?"

"What do you suggest? Moving them? Neither boy is in any condition to be moved."

"I don't know," said Sam, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "There has to be something!"

"Well, they can't be moved and Chief Collig is sending officers to stand guard over their rooms so for now, let's just wait and see how things go.

"I'm sick of waiting," Sam muttered mulishly. "I want to take these guys out!"

Con stared at him. Sam was normally one of the most even-tempered people he knew. "What is with you?"

"Sorry, I'm just…antsy. I had six messages from Jake last night but now I can't reach him. Maybe it's everything that happened last night but I've got a bad feeling about it."

"Sam, it's still early, maybe he's not up yet?"

Sam sighed. "Maybe."

"You're not convinced?"

"I'm so tired I don't know what I am."

Con patted his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. "It'll be fine, he'll call. Want to come with me to the ICU?"

"I thought they weren't letting anyone in to see Joe."

"They're not. I want to see Laura."

"Ah." Sam sighed. "Guess we'd better."

Silently, the two men walked to the elevator and entered it. Neither spoke as it moved silently upwards, they were both too apprehensive about facing Laura. The doors pinged open and each man subconsciously took a deep breath as they stepped off the elevator and headed for the ICU.

The ringing of Sam's phone disturbed the quiet of the hall. "It's Jake!" he exclaimed, checking the number and answering, "It's about time!"

"About time for what?" a deep unfamiliar voice sounded in his ears.

Sam stopped walking. "Who is this?"

"Mr. Radley, I presume?"

Sam didn't confirm or deny the presumption. "Who is _this_?"

"My name is Agent David Lynch. If you are Mr. Radley, then I would like to know why you had a meeting with Jake Benford last night?"

"What's it to you?" demanded Sam, suspicious at once.

"It's very important to me." The voice was cold and haughty. "You see, Agent Benford was murdered last night and you may have been the last person to see him. For all I know, you could have been the one to do it."

_**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing so far. You guys are amazing and your comments make my day. I hope you all have an awesome Valentine's Day. _

_Oh, and the boys will be back in the picture next chapter (couldn't have a Hardy Boys story without the boys now, could we? ;) )._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The walls were bleeding and melting down around Frank. He tried to get a grip on something tangible but the world seemed to be dissolving before his eyes. Sometimes he saw his mother sobbing in this revolving reality, other times there were faceless strangers in white coats. Any attempt to speak to them would cause pain to knock from inside his head and send rivets of agony shooting through him. Occasionally, Viktor Beschastnykh laughed at him while colours roared across his vision and other times it was the man with the scar who leered vampire-like at him and raised a bloody crowbar.

For days, the teenager remained trapped in this nightmare world of liquid reality where walls melted away, bleeding downwards into nothing. Frank was beginning to despair that he would never escape when one day, spots of white light started to break through the melting walls of black and red. Shapes moved on the periphery of his vision but no matter how hard he tried, the boy couldn't focus on them. From far away he heard the faint murmur of voices.

"Help me!" Frank cried but the voices paid no heed. "Help me!" he called, louder this time, but the voices dimmed as though they were moving further away. "No, please!" he yelled and felt himself start to rock back into the emptiness.

"No! No!" the teenager cried and lashed out, trying desperately to latch onto something as the walls started to blend into one another once more. Fire erupted in the veins of his arm but he didn't care; he needed to find those voices, he didn't want to be left alone in this silent world again.

Something seized him, the first time in days he had felt anything solid. Frank stopped thrashing at once.

"Frank," a soft voice called from somewhere far away.

"I'm here," he cried frantically. "Please help me!"

"Frank, its okay, relax."

"Where are you?" he cried, ignoring the pain that was stabbing him from behind his eyes.

"Frank, its okay, shhhhh. You're safe."

A white light appeared before him and started to grow. Frank watched it, mesmerized. Was he dead? Slowly a woman's face appeared in the center of the light smiling down at him.

"There you are, sweetie," she said, her voice sounding less far away. "How are you feeling?" The light behind her dimmed slightly and Frank could see her a little more clearly. She looked to be in her forties with dark hair and a kind smile but he didn't know her, how did she know who he was?

"Frank, do you know where you are?" she asked softly.

He shook his head and regretted it immediately as pain ricocheted off the inside of his skull, bouncing from side to side. He gritted his teeth.

"You're in the hospital, dearie," the woman told him. "Do you know who I am?"

"No." The weakness of his voice startled him; it sounded like whispered air. The light behind the woman dimmed further and the shadows of a room started to come slowly into view.

The woman's gentle smile disappeared. "You don't?" She leaned over him and Frank heard a beep before her face came back into view. "I'm Rachel," she told him. "Don't you remember? We've met three times already."

Frank looked bewildered. He had never seen this woman in his life before.

"It's okay," she said soothingly, catching sight of his confused and slightly panicked expression. "Do you know your name?"

"Frank Hardy."

"That's good, Frank. Can you tell me what age you are?"

"Seventeen."

"Rachel, what is it?" a deep voice asked.

"He's awake again," answered Rachel. Her voice was slowly becoming louder and clearer. "He knows his name and age but he still doesn't remember me."

A grey-haired man replaced Rachel in Frank's field of vision. "Frank, I'm Doctor Arnolds, how are you feeling?"

"Hurts." The vicious pain in his head was nothing compared to the violent agony in his left arm.

"I know it does. I'm just going to ask you a few questions and maybe we'll be able to give you something for the pain. How does that sound?"

Frank swallowed. His mouth felt terribly dry. "Okay."

"Good. Now, Frank, Rachel tells me you know your name, can you repeat it for me?"

"Frank Hardy."

"Good." The doctor shone a light in his eye. "Frank, what age are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Very good." He shone the light in his other eye. "Frank, can you tell me where you are?"

Frank paused. Hadn't the woman told him where he was? "Hospital?" he ventured uncertainly.

"That's right. You're doing very well," the doctor told him encouragingly and held up three fingers. "Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

Frank stared. Was this a trick question? "Three."

The doctor smiled. "Excellent, Frank. I think we can give you something for that arm now. I'll be right back with something, okay?"

"'Kay."

Frank closed his eyes and tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his head and the burning agony in his arm. He felt more alive, more _real_, than he had in days but he wished the agony weren't so real. Pain lashed across his vision and he gritted his teeth.

"Okay, Frank, that should only take a few minutes to take effect."

The doctor was back already. Frank opened his eyes and found kind blue ones looking down at him. What should take effect? The doctor hadn't given him anything.

The thoughts had barely flitted through his head when a soft, soothing silence rolled in and Frank could feel his eyes grow heavy. The pain in his head faded to a dull thud while the fire in his arm slowly eased. As his eyes slowly closed, Frank was lulled into a dreamless sleep by the narcotics.

**xxx**

It was daylight when Frank awoke. He blinked as the clinical white of the hospital room came into view. His mouth was dry as paper and his body felt terribly stiff as though he had been still for a long time. He tried to sit up but the room whirled madly and he thought he might be sick. Heart pounding, he lay back and tried to ignore the sharp bursts of pain that had exploded inside his skull with the minute movement. The pain in his arm was excruciating.

"Frank, how do you feel?" a voice sounded from beside his bed and he looked cautiously to his left. Sam Radley sat there smiling at him.

"Sam," he croaked. "What's going on?"

Sam winced. "You sound terrible. Do you need a drink of water?" Frank nodded.

The detective stood up and filled a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. Dropping a straw into the glass, he tilted it towards Frank so he could drink. The teenager raised his head slightly and gulped thirstily before allowing his head to plop back onto the pillow. Even that had left him feeling exhausted.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome. How do you feel?"

"Arm hurts," he ground out, fire licking its way through his veins.

Sam's smile disappeared. "I'll get the nurse to give you something."

As he left the room, Frank turned his gaze to the ceiling trying to remember what had happened. He remembered tailing Beschastnykh with Joe and Chet; they had gone to the docks. What then?

_Joe and I followed him down the_ _docks to a warehouse_, Frank remembered. _I went inside and Joe waited outside._ The memories of creeping through the dilapidated building and being discovered by Beschastnykh slowly filtered back to the Hardy boy and he grimaced as he remembered the man with the scar. Images of a crowbar and crippling pain exploding in his skull assaulted him. He swallowed.

Sam reentered the room followed by a dark-haired nurse that he recognized as Rachel.

"Good morning, sunshine," she greeted him cheerily. "Do you remember me today?"

"Rachel," he replied.

Her smile grew even wider. "Well, now, there's progress. I was beginning to think I would have to introduce myself to you everyday!"

"What do you mean?" asked Frank, watching as she drew a small bottle from her pocket and filled a syringe with its contents.

"You've been slipping in and out for a few days," she replied gently, emptying the contents of the syringe into his IV line. "We've met several times but today is the first time you've remembered me."

"How many times have you introduced yourself to me?" he wondered.

"Four. Now, don't worry," she added, seeing his alarmed expression. "It's perfectly normal for people with severe head injuries to suffer from a little short-term amnesia, but you're coming around quite nicely now."

Severe head injuries…amnesia….The words whirled through his mind. How long had he been here?

"Why don't I leave you two to talk?" suggested Rachel, discreetly leaving the room.

Sam sat down beside the bed again. "How are you feeling now?" he asked.

Frank considered it. His head still ached but the fire in his arm was dimming. "Better," he replied at last. "Sam, what's going on? Where's Mom? How long have I been here?"

"Easy, Frank. I'll tell you everything but try not to get too excited. You've been pretty ill for the last few days."

The teenager gave a small nod, careful not to jar his aching head. "Sam, what happened?"

"What do you remember?"

Frank described the events as best he remembered them, ending with the brutal attack from the man with the scar. "Everything after that is a bit hazy, but I think I remember…was there a fire?"

Sam nodded. "You were lucky to get out alive."

Frank glanced at his left arm which was heavily bandaged with gauze. He swallowed. "Is that what happened to my arm?"

Sam nodded again.

"Will it scar?"

Sam's heart sank. He really wished Laura was here to answer Frank's questions but she was two floors up in the ICU; Joe had developed an infection. He hoped Frank wouldn't ask about his brother. "Frank, I won't lie to you, there will be some scarring but the doctor said that with a skin graft it should be minimal."

"Okay." Frank remained silent for several minutes and Sam didn't push him.

Finally, Frank looked at him. "What head injuries was the nurse talking about?"

"You had a cracked skull along with severe swelling and bleeding on the brain. It was tough going for a while but the doctors don't think there'll be any permanent damage."

Frank bit his lip. "Have you heard from Dad?"

"Sorry, Frank," Sam shook his head, "there's been no word."

"What about Riley? Is he still okay?"

"Still at Con's. I got confirmation that his sister is missing too. Actually, this prisoner that you saw getting off the boat, the men referred to the prisoner as _she_, right?"

Frank nodded.

"If I were to show you a picture, do you think you could tell me if it was Riley's sister or not?"

"Sorry, Sam, her head was hooded. Besides, isn't she in England?"

"You'd be amazed at how easy it is to smuggle people into the country. What about the boat? Did you get a name? Maybe we can track down papers for the boat."

"The boat was filthy; I couldn't see what colour−hang on! You sound like this is the first time you've heard about the boat. Didn't Joe tell you about it?"

_Oh crap! _Sam could have kicked himself for not thinking of that. How was he going to explain this?

Despite the horrible pain in his head and the fact that the medication was making him feel slightly fuzzy, Frank could see unease in Sam's hesitation and propped himself up on his good arm, ignoring the roar of nausea that surged through him. "Sam, what's wrong? Where's Joe?"

Sam's heart sank further. Laura would kill him. "He's upstairs."

"Upstairs where?" demanded Frank.

"He's in the ICU."

Frank stared at him. "What! Why? Sam, he wasn't…he wasn't in the warehouse was he?"

"He wasn't in the warehouse but, Frank I really think your mother should be the one to explain everything to you."

"Nu-uh!" said Frank insistently, shaking his head and setting off small explosions of pain. "Tell me what happened right now!"

"Frank, please, I really think Laura should be the one to tell you−"

"Tell me what?" Frank's heart monitor was starting to beat erratically. "Sam, either tell me what happened to Joe or I swear to God, I'll get out of this bed and go straight to the ICU!" He struggled to sit up and his already pale face drained further of colour.

"Whoa, easy, Frank!" Sam got up from his chair and placed his hands on the agitated teenager's shoulders, gently pushing him back on the bed. "You're in no shape to be up and around. Lie down, I'll tell you."

Frank lay back down on the bed watching Sam fearfully. "What happened?"

Sam couldn't look the dark-haired boy in the eye. "Someone stabbed him."

Frank was horrorstruck. "_Stabbed_? How? They didn't know he was out there, they said there was no one outside when they went out to look!"

"I don't know what happened. Joe's under heavy sedation and we haven't been able to talk to him."

"How is he?" Frank's voice was barely a whisper.

"He's healing nicely," Sam replied. "He's young and fit like you so that's a big advantage."

"Then why is he under sedation?"

"Just to give his body time to heal."

Frank was no longer looking at him. The teenager had his eyes fixed on the ceiling and Sam could see a tremble in his fingers. "Where's Mom?"

"She's upstairs with Joe," replied Sam gently. "Do you want me to get her?"

"No. Just help me out of this bed. I'll go see her myself."

"Frank, you can hardly sit up much less walk! You're in no shape to go anywhere."

"I am going to see my brother," the teenager insisted obstinately using his good arm to throw off the covers, "with or without your help."

"Frank, don't be stupid," said Sam, trying to prevent the teenager from rising up again. "You've only just come around properly for the first time, give your body a chance to−Frank!"

The dark-haired boy was batting away Sam's hands as he tried to sit up. The roar of nausea was turning into a tidal wave. "Sam, either help me up or get out of my way!"

"Frank, please, lie back down!"

"No!"

"Frank!"

Two voices shouted his name; one in exasperation the other in shock. As Sam turned towards the other voice, Frank got a clear view of his mother's figure framed in the doorway.

"Honey, you're awake!" she cried, her voice quivering. Crossing the room quickly, she enveloped her son in a tight hug. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Frank lied quickly. "Can I go see Joe?"

"What?" Laura released him and turned back to Sam. "You told him?" she said accusingly.

Sam shrugged helplessly. "He asked…he knew there was something wrong and he was getting agitated…I had to tell him."

Laura gave him a look that would curdle milk before turning back to her anxious son. "Honey, you're in no fit state to be getting out of bed. When you're feeling stronger you can go see Joe." She gently pushed him down from the half-seated position he had managed to get himself into until he was horizontal on the bed once more.

"Mom, please," Frank protested trying to sit up again as his mother pulled the covers back over him. The tide of nausea was threatening to erupt inside him. "I need to see Joe."

"What you need is to lie down and get plenty of rest," Laura told him firmly. "You can see Joe when you're feeling stronger."

"But I feel fine," Frank insisted, just as his head started to swim. "I need…I have to…urgggh!" The nausea finally won the battle and Frank vomited over the side of the bed, then lay back gasping.

"Oh right, you really seem fine," said Laura sarcastically pressing the call button. A nurse appeared within seconds at the door.

"Is everything okay?"

"My son just got sick," said Laura apologetically.

"I'll get someone to clear it up," the nurse replied and vanished.

Frank was grinding his teeth as the pain in his head came back. "Those painkillers didn't last very long," he ground out.

"You were given something for the pain again?" Laura asked.

Frank nodded and the room rocked. He was starting to feel really not okay.

He heard Sam's voice ask, "Should I get the doctor?" and then the world tipped sideways and Frank tumbled downwards into darkness.

**xxx**

Daylight was streaming through the blinds when Frank's eyes fluttered open. The sharp, violent pain in his head had gone leaving it dead and heavy, while the pain in his arm had faded considerably. The teenager sat up feeling weak and shaky but without any of the nausea that had hit him the last time he tried to sit up.

"Frank, honey? How are you feeling?" Laura Hardy was sitting beside the bed, her eyes tired and bloodshot.

"Better," he answered. "What happened? How long have I been out?"

"Almost fifteen hours. You completely overexerted yourself and your body just wasn't able to take it." She glared at him sternly. "Honestly, Frank, what were you thinking? You're recovering from a cracked skull for crying out loud!"

"I just wanted to see Joe. When can I see him?"

"Maybe tomorrow."

"Why not now?"

"Because you're not physically strong enough. Do you want a repeat of yesterday?"

"But I feel fine−"

"Frank, you're not going up to see Joe and that's final!"

Frank glared mulishly at his mother as he relaxed back against the pillows. He knew there was no point arguing with her when she used that tone of voice. "At least tell me how he is?"

"He's fine. Stop worrying and just concentrate on getting better."

"Where's Sam?"

Laura's face tightened. "He went home."

Frank couldn't help but noticed his mother's grim expression and harsh tone. "Mom, what's going on between you and Sam?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah right. Mom, I can see you're mad with him about something."

She let out a tense sigh. "I'm not happy with him, Frank. He promised me he would keep you boys safe and look what happened."

"This isn't his fault, Mom!" Frank defended Sam at once. "He warned us not to do anything stupid. We just didn't listen."

"You're seventeen, Frank, and Sam should have known better than to send you on a surveillance of dangerous men…terrorists no less!" Laura's nostrils flared in anger and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the armrests of the chair. When Sam had told her the full story of Riley, Beschastnykh and the probable terrorist attack, she had come close to slapping him for involving her sons.

"Mom, Dad's missing and we wanted to help!" Frank argued. "You can't blame Sam for that."

"Your father wouldn't have wanted you involved in this. It's too dangerous."

"No, Mom, you're the one who doesn't want us involved in this…in any detective work!" Frank shot back. "You've been funny about it ever since Ben Mathis last year."

"Can you blame me?" she asked as a knock on the door sounded. They both looked around to see an uncomfortable Chet Morton standing there.

"Um, can I come in?"

"Of course, Chet," Laura replied getting to her feet. "I'm sure Frank could do with the company. I'll go and see Joe. Frank, don't even think of getting out of that bed or I'll have you tied to it!" She smiled at a bewildered Chet as she swept past him, while Frank scowled at his mother's retreating back.

"Er, what was that about?" Chet asked.

"Nothing, doesn't matter," Frank muttered, his expression dark.

"Right." Chet gave him a shrewd glance. "How are you feeling?"

Frank shrugged then winced. "Owwww! I was going to say better but…" he glanced down at his arm which was beginning to burn.

"Arm hurts?" ventured Chet.

"Yeah."

"Sam told me what happened." Chet bit his lip and studied Frank before he burst out with, "Frank, why did you go into the warehouse? You knew these guys were dangerous and you promised both Sam and me that you wouldn't do anything stupid! I thought you and Joe were dead! Do you know how that felt?"

The normally mild-mannered Chet looked angry and Frank was surprised. "Chet, I'm sorry. I just…I just didn't think."

Chet snorted. "Clearly."

"I am sorry, Chet…really."

Chet's expression softened. "I know. But please don't _ever_ do that to me again."

"I won't. I promise."

"Okay, so now that we've that out of the way, how's Joe?"

"Mom said he's getting better but I don't know if she's telling me everything because she won't let me up to see him."

"Your mom wouldn't lie to you," Chet pointed out.

"She wouldn't lie to me but she might leave stuff out," Frank replied shrewdly. "Especially if she thinks I'm in no fit state to hear bad news."

"Is she right?"

Frank shrugged. "My arm is killing me and my head feels like it weighs a ton, but not telling me what's really going on with Joe? Do you know the kind of horrible scenarios I can come up with in my head?"

Chet looked at him sympathetically. "Why don't you tell her that?"

"Because Mom isn't being the most reasonable person in the world right now. She's been freaking out ever since Dad disappeared and now with what happened to me and Joe…" his voice tailed off and he gave a helpless shrug.

"Has there been any word from your Dad?"

"Nothing," the dark haired boy replied softly.

Chet was silent. Frank had never looked so despondent and he didn't know what to say to cheer his friend up. "Frank, I'm sure your Dad is fine, he always is."

Thinking about his missing father and injured brother made Frank want to throw something so he changed the subject. "What did happen that night at the warehouse?"

"Didn't Sam tell you?"

"Not really. I sort of passed out before I got to the full story."

"Well, don't pass out on me please," Chet warned him, settling into the chair beside Frank's bed and beginning the story of what had happened after Frank and Joe had left him by the car. Frank was silent while Chet talked, his countenance becoming grimmer as the story unfolded. He was disappointed to discover the license plate of the SUV had turned out to be a fake.

When Chet finished talking, Frank remained silent. He felt slightly ashamed of the decisions he and Joe had made that night. Never mind that it had almost cost them their lives, they had never considered what their actions may cost their loyal friend; especially after Frank promised him that they wouldn't do anything dangerous.

And it had cost Chet. Frank could see that he had been badly frightened by the events of that night and that he felt responsible for what had happened. Frank had put that responsibility on his shoulders by asking him to call for help. "Chet, I'm sorry. I am _really_ sorry. I should never have put you in that position and I shouldn't have broken my promise to you that we would be careful."

"Its okay, Frank−"

"No!" said Frank forcefully. "It's not okay! We made some very stupid moves that nearly got ourselves killed and scared a lot of people. I'm not even sure if Joe is even okay," he finished miserably.

"Joe will be fine. Sam said he's young and fit so it gives him a better chance."

"When did you talk to Sam?"

"This morning. He called to the house−I almost forgot! Frank, there was an agent with him!"

"An FBI Agent? Why?"

"Sam's contact in the bureau was murdered, the same night you guys were nearly killed! That's why you couldn't get Sam, he was on his way to meet with this guy and his phone was dead."

"Sam didn't say anything about this yesterday; why did he meet with him?"

"He didn't. When he called home and heard what happened to you guys, he turned around and came straight back to Bayport."

"So he has no idea what this guy wanted to talk to him about," Frank realized. "Damn! That's our fault. If we hadn't gotten hurt, Sam would have found out what the guy knew."

"And I wouldn't be here to tell you about it." Frank and Chet's heads swiveled towards the doorway to see Sam and a man in a dark suit standing there.

"If I hadn't come back to Bayport then in all likelihood, I would have been murdered alongside Jake," Sam told the Hardy boy as he entered the room and walked over to Frank's bed. "I was meeting him at his apartment where he was murdered…about an hour after I was due to arrive. So, in a weird way, you saved my ass, Frank."

"Or you could have saved this guy Jake by being there and catching the guy who did it," said Frank.

"Not likely, these guys are pros and if they wanted me dead that night then I would be dead."

"Joe and I are alive," Frank pointed out.

"You and Joe weren't planned. You showed up unexpectedly at the warehouse and they improvised. Everything points to these guys knowing I was coming to Washington to see Jake, they would have been waiting for me, Frank."

"But how do you know−?"

"Agent Benford's phone was bugged," the man in the dark suit interrupted Frank. "Look, let's skip the formalities; I know you're Frank Hardy and I'm Agent David Lynch. We know these guys were watching Jake Benford; his phone at home and work was bugged with a voice activation device. Every time he made a call, they had a live show of who he was talking to. They knew he was poking into this case and we think he hit on something big and that's why they killed him."

"What did he hit on?" Frank demanded.

"We don't know yet," Agent Lynch admitted. "But whatever he discovered, he was obviously going to tell Mr. Radley here. It's very unfortunate for the FBI that he was murdered before he could reveal what he had discovered."

"Oh yeah, it was unfortunate for the FBI," Sam muttered darkly. Agent Lynch ignored him.

Frank studied the agent's face. "You have an idea about what he discovered, haven't you?"

"We have some thoughts on the matter."

"What are they?"

"We think there may be a mole in the FBI."

Something clicked in Frank's brain. "There is! Those guys mentioned something before they discovered me; they knew about Dad working their case and they said they had a guy in the FBI."

Agent Lynch's attention zeroed in on Frank. "Did they mention any names?"

The teenager shook his head. "No. They just said their 'guy in the FBI,' that was it."

"Pity they didn't name names," Sam commented.

Another thought struck Frank. "A mole in the FBI could mean anyone's involved, we can't trust the FBI!" He turned with narrowed eyes to Agent Lynch. "And that means we can't trust you."

The agent smiled thinly. "I admire your caution. However, in this instance, I can assure you that it's very misguided. I am not the FBI mole."

"And why should we believe you?" Frank shot back.

"Because I don't work for the FBI, Mr. Hardy. I work for the CIA."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter** **Ten**

"CIA?" Frank repeated staring at the man before glancing at Sam for confirmation.

The detective nodded. "He checks out, Frank. Or at least, as near as you can check the CIA out." He gave the agent a sour look.

"Mr. Radley, I'm well aware that you don't trust me, and frankly, I don't care," the agent interjected before turning to Frank. "Mr. Hardy, you and your brother are the only ones who have gotten a look at these men and as your brother is indisposed at the moment, I would like you to take a look at some pictures and see if you can identify any of them. Can you do that?"

"I guess."

The agent took Frank's uncertainty as a yes. "Excellent. I'll be right back with some mug shots."

As the agent departed the room, Frank turned to Sam. "He seems…thorough."

Sam snorted. "The guy's a tool! But the FBI foisted him off on me; IA are investigating several agents and I think the FBI wanted Mr. Sunshine there out of the way."

"Can we trust him?"

"I don't know. It can't hurt to work with him and see what we can learn, just don't mention Riley."

"I won't," Frank reassured him as Agent Lynch returned to the room carrying a large black album.

"Have a look through this and see if you recognize anyone," he told Frank, hoisting the book onto the teenager's lap. "We already know Viktor Beschastnykh is involved so you can ignore his picture."

"Okay." Frank opened the album and the first picture to stare up at him was Viktor Beschastnykh. He ignored the cold stare and turned the page. The next man was completely unfamiliar. For the next few minutes, the room was silent as Frank turned page after page of unfamiliar faces. He was down to the last few pages when he came across a familiar cold sneer. "Him!" he cried, jabbing the picture. "I recognize him, he was at the warehouse."

The agent glanced at the picture and a frisson of disgust crossed his face. "Are you sure he was there?"

"Positive," said Frank quietly. "Joe and I saw him outside smoking a cigarette before he ever entered the warehouse. Besides, he was the one who smashed me on the head with a crowbar." Frank gave an involuntary shudder. He would never forget that sneer and those eyes. "Beschastnykh referred to him as Vogel."

Agent Lynch sighed. "Mark Vogel. He's a gun for hire; a mercenary who provides his services to the highest bidder." Disgust crept into his voice and repulsion settled itself in his face. "He's ex-military and extremely dangerous."

"This guy is an American soldier and he's planning a terrorist attack?" Chet interrupted incredulously.

"_Ex_-soldier!" hissed Agent Lynch. "He was dishonorably discharged for conduct unbecoming five years ago. From what I can gather, he has despised the American government every since."

"So he was fired?" Sam interjected. "Planning a terrorist attack against his own country is a bit of an extreme response, wouldn't you say?"

"I highly doubt he's involved in planning the attack," Agent Lynch replied sourly. "Like I said, he provides his services to the highest bidder and he doesn't particularly care what he's asked to do so long as he gets paid."

Frank stared down at the cruel face of Mark Vogel. This man had tried to smash his head in and burn him alive. He clearly cared nothing for human life; it didn't surprise him that he was involved in a terrorist threat against his own country.

Agent Lynch took the book from Frank. "What bothers me even more is that if Vogel is involved, there is a very strong possibility that we're dealing with home-grown terrorists."

"Home grown?" Frank repeated, aghast. "How could anyone want to see a terrorist attack happen in their own country?"

"Unfortunately, there are quite a few American citizens who hold some very anti-government views," Agent Lynch replied seriously. "Terrorists often try and convert them to their cause in prison."

"Prison?"

The agent nodded. "You'd be surprised how many prisoners slip through the cracks; men that traditional groups won't accept. Makes them easy targets for terrorists' recruitment, especially if they have a reason to hate the government. I can think of at least three right-wing extremist groups capable of pulling this off."

"So we have Americans trying to kill Americans," concluded Sam in disgust. "Wonderful."

Chet nodded his agreement with Sam while Frank turned to Agent Lynch. "Can I ask a question?"

"You can ask but I can't guarantee that I'll answer, Frank."

"I want to know how the FBI and the CIA knew Beschastnykh was involved before Joe and I ever saw him at the docks?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question."

"Why not?"

"That information is classified.

Frank snorted. "Classified. Right. My dad was involved in this investigation and now he's missing, don't you think we deserve to know something?"

"I am sorry," the agent replied, studying the teenager with pity. "I wish I could, but there are certain things we just can't reveal. I'll let you know any information that pertains to your father, but that's the best I can do."

"Okay. Who hired Dad?"

"The Deputy Director of the FBI," Agent Lynch replied at once.

Sam was stunned. "What? The Deputy Director? Jeez, we knew it was someone high up but I didn't think it was _that_ high up."

"Why hire Dad?" Frank demanded.

The Agent studied him. "I'm sure you know that your father's reputation as a private investigator is quite formidable, Frank. He's also known as one of the best undercover detectives in the country amongst law enforcement agencies. When the deputy director began to suspect there may be a spy in the FBI, he called Fenton in to do an important undercover job that he needed to keep concealed from the mole. As Fenton has worked with the FBI several times in the past, there were no security issues."

"What job did he want him to do?"

"His job was to infiltrate a terrorist-cell," Agent Lynch replied. "But as to where that cell is or how he did it, I can't answer."

"Why not?" demanded Frank, sick at the thought of his father in such close contact with terrorists. "You said you'd give us any information that had to do with Dad."

"I'm afraid that particular piece of information concerns far more than your father, Frank, and it's more than I'm willing to reveal. I'm sorry."

"I have a question," Chet interrupted timidly in a small voice. "Mr. Lynch, Agent…Sir, do you know where this terrorist attack is supposed to take place?"

The Agent shook his head. "Unfortunately not and therein lies the urgency. A Dutch lab reported a theft of lab grade anthrax last week and−"

"How much anthrax are we talking about?" interrupted Sam.

"Four grams. Enough to kill 25 million people if weaponized effectively."

**xxx**

"This is it, honey," Laura told Frank stopping his wheelchair outside a room marked twelve.

Frank looked up from his musings. When he woke up that morning, he had managed to convince his mother to let him see Joe. He had explained that by not telling him the whole story, she was leaving him to imagine the worst. Laura had reluctantly admitted that Joe had developed an infection and was very weak. That had galvanized Frank further and he had hounded his mother and every member of staff from the doctors to the orderlies who had entered his room that morning until someone had finally agreed that he could see his brother.

He had conceded to the wheelchair because aside from being one of the requisites for visiting Joe, Frank − although he would never admit it − felt very weak and dizzy whenever he stood up. Clutching the arm rests of the chair, he got shakily to his feet. The world tilted a little and he swayed. Laura and the guard stationed outside Joe's room immediately grabbed him to steady him.

"Frank, what are you doing?" his mother demanded.

"I want to see him alone. Please, Mom?"

"He can't hear you, Frank," she pointed out gently.

"I know, but…please?"

She sighed. "Alright, Frank. I'll be right outside if you feel funny."

"Thanks." Feeling light headed and with his world tilting ever so slightly, Frank shuffled into Joe's room.

The room was small and the blinds had been closed slightly, giving the room a darkened feel. Frank could hear the steady beep beep of the heart monitor and the whoosh of the ventilator as he approached the bed. "Hey bro," he greeted an unconscious Joe softly, sliding into the chair beside the bed. "Sorry I haven't been here sooner."

Even though he expected it, Frank found it hard that the only response was the sound of the machines. A lump appeared in his throat and he wished Joe didn't look quite so still and pale. He swallowed.

"Your black eye is almost gone," he pointed out uselessly. "You don't look like such a tough guy anymore…" his voice trailed off as it occurred to him that Joe looked far from being a tough guy. In fact, his brother looked horribly vulnerable.

He swallowed again and tried again. "We still haven't heard from Dad, and Sam's contact in the bureau was murdered. The CIA are involved in the case now and there was an agent here yesterday. Don't think you would have liked him much; complete jackass. Definitely didn't get the job for his people skills."

Silence.

"He did give me a lot of information though," Frank continued, "and he showed me some pictures. I identified the guy with the scar, remember the one smoking the cigarette? His name is Mark Vogel." Keeping his eyes on his brother's face, Frank leaned forwards a little. "Guess who hired Dad, Joe? The Deputy Director of the FBI! Can you believe it?" Frank stared at his brother for several long minutes. He knew he was heavily sedated but he couldn't help but hope for some reaction, even if it was just a flutter of his eyes.

"Chet was really mad at me for going into the warehouse. Can't say I blame him. It was a stupid move."

No reaction. Frank swallowed hard. "Joe, I'm sorry. I should have listened to Chet when he said it wasn't the best idea to follow Beschastnykh. I just didn't think…I guess I turned into you for a while!" He gave a weak laugh that faded quickly. "I really wish this hadn't happened. I know you're going to tell me not to be an idiot and that you went along with it but I'm supposed to be the sensible one; I'm the big brother!"

Joe remained as still as a statue.

"It's funny. I keep thinking that I'm handling Dad's disappearance better than you because I have more practice at it, but then I look at Mom and realize that all the practice in the world still doesn't prepare you for something like this. If anything, it gets worse every time."

Frank sighed and closed his eyes. "I sure hope you wake up soon because talking to you like this sucks. Never thought I'd say it but I really miss your smartass comments." He gave a small smile. "But you know I'm never going to admit that when you wake up, right?"

The older boy bowed his head and sat in silence beside his brother for a very long time.

**xxx**

"Hey, Frank, you awake?" a voice called softly and the teenager opened his eyes. Sam Radley stood beside his bed.

"I'm awake," he replied. "I was just resting my eyes." Slowly he sat up, wincing as the skin on his injured arm stretched slightly. "What's up?"

"I heard you went to see Joe today," said Sam quietly, looking at him in concern. "How are you?"

"Did Mom tell you?"

"No. She's still not talking to me unless it's to yell at me. Rachel, your nurse, told me."

"Oh."

"She also told me you've been pretending to sleep ever since you came back."

"Busted, huh?"

"Completely." Sam sat down and studied Frank. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Joe's young and fit, Frank, he'll be fine."

"I wish people would stop saying that!" exclaimed Frank in exasperation. "I know he'll be fine!"

"Then what's wrong?"

Frank shrugged. "I just…I wish this had never happened." He bit his lip. "I was so stupid! Chet and Joe weren't sure about tailing Beschastnykh down the docks but went along with it because I suggested it, and then I suggested to Joe that one of us check out the warehouse! I didn't think about what could happen to me or Joe, I didn't think about the position I was putting Chet in, I didn't think of any of the consequences! And now I've got a very painful skin graft to look forward to − but that serves me right − and Joe's going to have to spend the next couple of weeks taking it easy and waiting for his lung to heal. Not to mention that Mom will probably never let us investigate a case again. And God knows the kind of nightmares I've given Chet−"

"Okay, Frank, breathe!" Sam interrupted him. "First off, yes, you did make a pretty foolish decision but you know what? This still isn't your fault. Sick, evil, twisted men who get their kicks out of hurting other people are to blame. Me, the detective who should have known better than to send the two teenagers who trusted him on a surveillance of dangerous men is responsible. Frank, none of this is your fault."

"How can you say that? If I hadn't come up with that dumb idea of checking out the warehouse−"

"Oh for crying out loud!" Sam gave a groan of exasperation. "I swear, you Hardys, if there was a prize for guilt tripping they'd name it after you! Frank, it is NOT your fault. You were only doing what you thought was best at the time, and truthfully, if I were in your shoes, I would have done the same."

"But I should have known better," Frank whispered, feeling guilt overwhelm him. "I'm supposed to be the sensible one."

"Frank, for God's sake, you're only seventeen! Making stupid decisions goes with the territory."

Frank gave a watery smile. "I know. I just…I feel bad, Sam. I feel responsible, especially for what happened to Joe."

"Any chance you'd worry about yourself for once?" Sam commented dryly. "Frank, you didn't exactly get off lightly y'know."

As his arm gave a twinge to remind him of his own injuries, Frank sighed. "Yeah, but I'm the big brother, I'm supposed to look out for him."

"Frank, you did," Sam replied gently. "Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"What happened after you were pulled from the fire?"

The teenager shook his head.

"Frank, you were in really bad shape. You could barely put a sentence together and couldn't even see straight, but you still managed to tell Con that Joe was outside. You didn't make much sense and you made yourself sick getting the words out, but you still let Con know that Joe wasn't in the building."

Frank looked confused. "I don't understand, how did that help?"

"Con thought Joe was in the building with you," said Sam quietly. "And the building had just collapsed. They were waiting for the flames to die down so the firefighters could do a recovery. They thought Joe was dead and no one would have bothered searching the dock but for what you told Con." Sam paused then added, "Frank, Joe would have bled to death if you hadn't managed to tell Con what you did. Even half-dead you were being the big brother." Sam shook his head. "You need to stop feeling so responsible for everyone, Frank, it's not healthy."

Frank shrugged. He couldn't help who he was.

"Anyway," Sam glanced back at the door. "That wasn't what I wanted to see you about." Getting to his feet, the detective hurried over to the door and looked out. Nodding to the guard on duty, he closed the door and came back to the bed.

"What is it?" Frank asked as the detective sat down.

"I got a key in the mail from Jake two days ago. I don't know what it opens but it came with a note saying once I figured it out I would find what I was looking for. Here, have a look." Sam produced a small key from his back pocket and handed it to Frank.

Frank examined the key. "It looks like a locker key."

"That's what I thought, but what does it open?"

Frank shrugged, staring at the small key. "Was that all Jake said in the note?"

"Yep. He didn't even sign his name."

"Then how do you know Jake sent it?"

"His writing is pretty distinctive and I'd recognize it anywhere. Besides, it's a DC postmark."

"Do you think it leads to information about the case?"

"I'd bet my life on it," Sam replied seriously. "Jake sent this before he was murdered. He must have known something was up."

"How are we supposed to figure out what it opens?"

"I have no idea. I've spent the last few days racking my brain trying to work out what it could be."

"It would have to be somewhere secure. What about a safe deposit box?"

Sam shook his head. "Too obvious and too traceable; I'd need ID to access one of those and that leaves a trail. No, it has to be something anonymous."

"What about a locker at a bus station?"

"Thought of that too," Sam replied. "But Jake is miles from any of DC's major stations and I don't think he had time to go further than a few blocks from his apartment. His last phone call to me was less than thirty minutes before he was murdered. He left a message telling me to check my mail and I thought he meant my voicemail, but now I think he meant this."

Frank looked thoughtful. "Sam, what if he didn't just mean _your_ mail?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he obviously left his apartment to post that key to you, but you said he wouldn't have much time to do anything else, right?"

"Right."

"Sam, what if he used a post box?"

The detective stared at him. "Frank, that's it! Why didn't I think of that? There are a couple of small local post offices all within thirty minutes drive of Jake's apartment. I bet this key opens a box in one of them."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm−" Sam was interrupted by the door to Frank's room flying open and hitting the wall hard. Frank started and Sam jumped defensively in front of the bed as Con rushed into the room.

"Sam…" he gasped, breathless and agitated. "We…have a big…problem!"

"Why? What's happened?" Sam demanded.

"I just got home from work," Con wheezed, putting a hand to his chest. "Riley's gone!"

_**A/N:** Big thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, you guys are awesome. :) Anyone else who has been following the story, please let me know what you think (I see the hits, I know you're out there! ;) )_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"Gone?" repeated Sam. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"I mean he's…gone!" wheezed Con, trying to get his breath back. "My front door was wide open and the house was ransacked!"

"Is it Beschastnykh?" Frank asked.

"I don't know," Con answered. "But it couldn't have been a burglary, nothing was taken."

"How did they find him?" Sam demanded anxiously.

"No idea. We're the only ones who know."

"And Chet," Sam pointed out.

"Do you think he could have said something?" Con wondered.

"Chet wouldn't have told anyone," Frank jumped to his friend's defense at once.

"I know he wouldn't," said Con in a pacifying tone. "But maybe he let something slip?"

Sam had his cell phone out and was dialing Chet's number. "Or maybe these guys found out that Chet was with you guys the night of the fire and went after him for information!"

Frank was horrified. "Sam, you don't think they have Chet, do you?"

Sam had his phone to his ear and put his finger to his lips for silence. "Hi, Iola? Is Chet there?...Yes, this is Sam….He's doing fine….No, he's not awake yet….They're still not letting anyone into see him….Frank's fine too….yeah, you can….Uh, Iola? Is Chet there? I really need to speak with him….Thanks." Sam covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "He's there."

Frank heaved a sigh of relief as Sam spoke again. "Chet? Are you okay?...No, everything here is fine but Riley is gone and….we don't know where he's gone, Chet. That's kind of why I was ringing you. You didn't happen to say anything to anyone, did you?….No, I don't think you would say anything but you didn't happen to let anything slip….Oh, okay….No, we have no idea….Chet, I've got to go but we'll keep you updated...Thanks, Chet. Bye." Sam disconnected the call. "He said he's never even mentioned Riley's name."

"So how could they have known where Riley was?" Con demanded. "Who could have told them?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea."

"What do we do now?" asked Frank.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "_We_ do nothing. Con and I will take care of this. You're in no shape for any sort of detective work. No buts," he added, as Frank opened his mouth to argue. "I promise we'll keep you in the loop, Frank but you won't be doing any investigating and that's final."

"Great time to start channeling Mom," Frank muttered.

Sam chuckled.

"So, what are you going to do?" asked Frank, a little grumpily.

"I'm going to Washington tonight," Sam replied. "I need to find whatever it is Jake left for me. We need to know what he knew. Con, can you call Ezra and get him out to your place? We could use his help in looking for Riley."

"But what if these guys already have him?" Con pointed out. "They'll be long gone."

"We still have to try," said Sam tiredly. "From what Frank overheard, these men were waiting until they had Jonah Harris' entire family to force him to weaponize Anthrax and commit this attack..."

"…And now they have his entire family," concluded Con.

**xxx**

It had been a long night. As Frank shifted restlessly in his bed − his gaze going constantly from his watch to the door and back to his watch again − he tried to recall the last time he had felt this frustrated. Con had just called him and told him that there were no fingerprints to be found in his ransacked house; it was unquestionably a professional job. Neither of them had heard anything from Sam since he had left for Washington the night before. Waiting for news was bad enough but being confined to bed was making things worse. Even a visit from Callie that morning hadn't helped. Frank was ready to climb the walls and had started badgering his mother to get him released from the hospital. Laura was pointedly ignoring his requests.

"Good afternoon, sunshine," Rachel, his friendly nurse, greeted him as she entered the room, pushing a cart in front of her. "How are you feeling today?"

"Okay," Frank muttered, glancing at his watch again.

"You don't look okay. In fact, you have a face that would sour cream," she disagreed cheerfully, placing the electronic thermometer in his ear. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

Rachel clucked as the thermometer beeped. "My, we are in bad form today." Checking the reading, she recorded it in his chart. "Is your arm hurting, dearie? Do you need anything for it?"

"Its fine," he replied, a little abruptly, before glancing at his arm. It was throbbing. He sighed as he realized he was being very churlish. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude; I'm just going a bit crazy being stuck here. I want to go home."

"You're a bit weak to be discharged yet," she pointed out gently. The kind-hearted nurse couldn't help but feel very sorry for the forlorn teenager in front of her. He was a nice boy who had clearly just been through an awful ordeal, and another nurse had told her that his younger brother was in the intensive care unit on a ventilator after surviving a brutal knife attack…not to mention that his mother looked like a woman who was about to have a nervous breakdown. Rachel wished she could make him feel better. "Is there anything I can do?"

Frank shook his head. "Right now, there are only two things that would make me feel better and one of them is being discharged from this hospital! No offence," he added quickly, for fear of offending the nice nurse.

She chuckled. "None taken."

"How soon do you think it will be before the doctor lets me home?" Frank asked anxiously.

The nurse studied him. His face was strained and worried, too much so for a seventeen-year-old boy. She could see that the added frustration of being confined to the hospital was taking its toll on him. "I'm afraid it could be a few days yet," she answered. "I know this is tough but can you at least just try and relax for me? You're far too tense."

He sighed. "I'll try."

"Are you sure you don't need anything for that arm?"

"Maybe," he admitted. "But I don't like how groggy it makes me feel."

She smiled in understanding and rooted through her cart, picking up a syringe and small bottle. "I'm just going to give you a little codeine to ease the pain and help you relax, but it won't knock you out. How does that sound?"

Frank smiled in relief. "Great."

"Someone will be around in a little while with some lunch," she told him, filling the syringe before emptying the contents into his line. "You just relax, okay?"

"Okay," Frank smiled as she left the room. Her motherly, kind nature was very soothing.

As he lay back against his pillow, he could feel the drugs lapping away at the pain in his arm and felt some of the tension drain from him.

He wondered how Sam was getting on in Washington. Had he found whatever Jake had left for him?

"Penny for your thoughts?" a soft voice interrupted his musings and he looked up to see his mother standing beside his bed. Two coffees and a brown paper bag were clutched in her hands. "A peace offering," she informed him, placing them on the table. "You and I have been butting heads quite a bit over the last few days and I think we need a chat. It's proper coffee, not that hospital rubbish," she added as Frank took the proffered cup.

"Thanks, Mom," the teenager replied quietly, inhaling the smell with pleasure. It had been days since he'd had good coffee.

"You're welcome," she smiled. "Muffin? They're apple and walnut, your favourite."

"Yes please," said Frank eagerly, watching his mother remove muffins from the brown bag and place them on paper plates. She handed him one before sitting in the chair beside his bed and removing the lid from her own cup.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, blowing lightly on her coffee.

"Okay. Rachel just gave me something for my arm."

Laura looked concerned. "Is it hurting again?"

"A bit, but the drugs have helped."

"How about your head?"

"Still feels a bit weird. Heavy, y'know? But it's not sore."

"I suppose that's something." She sighed and placed a hand on her son's. "Honey, I know I've been pretty snappish these last few days and I'm sorry. I let my emotions get the better of me. I've just been so angry at Sam for involving you in all of this and so worried that you boys wouldn't be okay and I miss Fenton so much and I'm so scared that…well, everything has got on top of me and I just didn't know what I was doing. In all honesty, I feel a little bit like a teenager again with my emotions yo-yoing all over the place!" She gave a sheepish smile. "I thought I was older and wiser but obviously not. It's just hard to be rational when the lives of the people you love are on the line."

"Does this mean you forgive Sam?"

She grimaced. "I wouldn't say I've forgiven him quite yet, but I'm not as angry at him as I was either."

"You know he never meant for us to get hurt, right, Mom?"

"I know, honey, I'm just mad at him for disregarding my wishes. I didn't want you boys involved in the investigation and he promised me he would make sure you were safe."

"But he did, Mom! We were only supposed to watch the station; he made us promise not to do anything else and we didn't listen. You can't blame him for that."

"Can we change the subject please? Frank, I know you and Joe could have used your heads a bit more, but it was Sam I had placed my trust in. You might not like to hear this, but you're just teenagers and you can't always be expected to act with the maturity of an adult."

"But−"

"Frank," she interrupted him. "Please just drop it. You're my boys and you got hurt, I'm entitled to feel a little anger. I need time before I can forgive Sam and I don't want to argue with you about this anymore, okay?"

"Okay, Mom."

She squeezed his hand and smiled. "Good. Now, let's forget about all the bad stuff for a while so I can tell you the good news."

"I'm being released from hospital?"

She had to laugh. "Not quite. Joe's infection is gone and he's been taken off the ventilator which means he doesn't need to be sedated anymore. The doctors told me he should be awake by tomorrow morning."

Frank sat up straight. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." She smiled, looking the most relaxed that she had in days.

Frank felt relief and happiness course through him, making him lightheaded. "That's great news, Mom! All I need now is to get released from the hospital and I'll be able to relax a little."

"And you can't just relax here?"

"In here, confined to a bed? Are you mad?"

She sighed.

**xxx**

Everything hurt. That was the first thing that registered in Joe's brain as cohesive thoughts broke through the jumble of fog in his head. His chest felt tight and heavy as though someone were sitting on it and sharp pain was coursing through him. Someone was calling him and he tried to ignore them, feeling too exhausted to think and wanting to slip back into painless oblivion.

"Time to wake up, Joe," a female voice persisted. "Come on now."

_Go away_.

"Joe, honey?" his mother's familiar voice sounded suddenly, soft and pleading. "We're here. Open your eyes, baby."

_Baby? _

That got Joe's attention, his mother hadn't called him baby since he was six-years-old and he wrenched his eyes open in furious indignation that she was doing so now. Bright light made him blink several times until his mother and Frank's anxious faces hovering above him came into view. He opened his mouth to berate his mother for her chosen term of endearment but all that came out was some sort of strangled garble. God, his throat hurt.

"Easy, honey," said his mother, a relieved smile breaking across her face. "Take it slowly."

"Wha-r-?" the croak that emanated from his throat hardly sounded like words.

"You're in the hospital," a tall, blond woman in green scrubs appeared beside his mother. "My name is Dr. Walsh. I'm your surgeon and I just want to ask you a couple of questions, okay, Joe?"

He nodded, then swallowed. He wished his throat didn't hurt so much.

The doctor noticed his grimace. "Does your throat hurt?"

He nodded again.

"You've had a tube down your throat for the last week so it may hurt for a while. Do you want a drink?"

Joe nodded once more and his mother disappeared from view. He turned his gaze Frank who was staring down at him. "How are you feeling?" the older boy asked.

"Hurts." His voice was croaky. What the heck had happened?

"Here you go, sweetie," his mother reappeared with a glass of water and a straw and tilted it towards him. Joe only managed a few sips before turning to the doctor again.

She smiled gently at him. "Have you any pain at the moment, Joe?"

"Chest hurts."

She nodded sympathetically. "I expected that. You may feel quite sore and stiff for a while. How about your stomach? Any pain there?"

"Uh-huh."

"How bad is it on a scale of one to ten? Ten being the worst."

"Six," he mumbled.

"That should start to ease in a day or two. We'll start you with small, light meals first, ease your stomach back into eating. Have you pain anywhere else?" Joe shook his head and she smiled. "That's good. Sounds like you're on the road to recovery. I'm just going to get something that will help with the pain, I'll be back shortly."

She left the room and he turned his attention to his mother and brother still hovering over him. "What happened?" he croaked.

"Do you remember anything?" his mother asked, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

Joe cast his eyes up to the ceiling as a jumble of images rushed through his brain; the station, Chet, the warehouse, a man smoking, fire, the man with the scar, a bloody knife. _Hang on! Fire!_

Joe turned a confused face to his brother. "The fire, how did you get out?

"You remember?"

Joe nodded. "I thought you were dead," he whispered, going cold at the mere memory.

"I nearly was," said Frank, raising a heavily bandaged arm. "We both were. Joe, what happened?"

"Let's not talk about this right now," Laura interrupted. "Joe, honey, when you're feeling stronger you can tell us what happened, okay? Try not to talk too much just yet."

Joe nodded and swallowed again to ease the pain in his throat. "Can you at least tell me what happened?"

His mother sighed and looked at Frank. "I'll tell you," his brother offered quietly and told him everything that had happened in the warehouse finishing with how they had both been rescued. "We've both been here since," he concluded as the doctor returned with a syringe.

"This will help with the pain," she told Joe, emptying the contents into his line. "It will probably knock you out, but I promise, the next time you wake up, you'll feel much better."

The words were barely out of her mouth when Joe felt his head get fuzzy and his eyes grow heavy. His last image was of his brother staring down at him before the world fell away.

**xxx**

Later that evening, after Laura had returned home to take a shower and an expected call from Gertrude Hardy, Frank was sitting up in bed attempting to read a book to distract him from his thoughts but failing miserably, when the lightest of taps on his bedroom door drew his attention. He looked up and saw an anxious looking Sam quickly raise a finger to his lips. Con was behind him, grim faced.

Frank opened his mouth in confusion to ask them what was going on but Sam shook his head as the two men stole silently into the room. The teenager watched open-mouthed as they started to quietly search his room, remaining eerily silent as they opened cupboards and peered under his bed. After several bewildering minutes of this, Sam raised a hand and signaled to Con from a crouched position over by Frank's window. His eyes were glued to something. Con joined him and Frank watched as he shook his head and made an angry gesture with his mouth. The two men returned to the door and once more Sam rapped on it, except this time it was much louder and more obvious.

"Hey, Frank, how are you feeling?" he asked the teenager while Con shook his head fiercely and put a finger to his lips.

Frank glanced towards the window with a sinking feeling. He knew at once by their actions that his room was bugged. "Much better," he replied. "Find anything in Washington?" he added, feeling it would be suspicious if he didn't mention something.

"Nope," Sam answered, while nodding his head. "Guess we were wrong about the postboxes. How's Joe?"

"He's off the ventilator," Frank told him. "He was awake for a while earlier."

"Good," said Sam. "We can question him about what happened when he gets a bit stronger."

"It'll probably take a day or two," Frank acknowledged, playing along but dying to talk to Sam. "Don't suppose you want to come for a coffee with me?" he added, as sudden inspiration struck. "I'm bored out of my tree here."

"Good idea," said Sam approvingly. "Need help getting out of that bed?"

"No, I can manage." Frank climbed out of the bed and slid into a pair of slippers before carefully putting on a robe. "Let's go," he told the men when he was done.

Frank waited until they had travelled several feet down the hall before whispering, "Is my room bugged?"

Sam nodded.

"How did you know?"

"My phone and living room were bugged," Con replied in a low voice. "CSI found them when they were examining the house. Sorry I couldn't tell you over the phone."

"Con told me when I arrived at the station," Sam interjected. "So I decided I'd better check my place."

"Don't tell me…"

"Yep," said Sam grimly. "Bugged too."

"And then we thought about your room," Con told him. "Sam realized you had talked about Riley and where he was in there. If the room was bugged then it was probably how these guys found out where Riley was."

"But where…_how_?" Frank demanded, at a loss as to how his hospital room could have been bugged without him seeing it or the guard letting anyone suspicious in.

"There's a bug under the window," Sam replied. "We're going to leave it there and feed them false information. As to the how…" His voice trailed off and he bit his lip in concern. "The only thing we can come up with is that someone in the hospital is working with them. There's no other explanation; no one else could have got in your room."

"Which presents us with another dilemma," Con added. "If it is someone in the hospital then they have access to your rooms, they can get past the guards without drawing attention to themselves. They've already done it once to put that bug in your room."

"If they were in my room already, then why didn't they finish me off?" Frank was confused. "Surely I'm a threat to them because I've seen some of their faces?"

"We thought about that too," Sam replied. "Unfortunately, the only reason we could come up with is that killing you would draw attention to the fact that they have someone in the hospital and they don't want that known because they have another use for them."

"What sort of use?"

"We don't know yet."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"Neither do I."

They walked the rest of the way to the canteen in silence, each one wondering what these terrorists had planned next. Con peeked through the glass on the doors. "It's pretty empty," he told them. "We should be able to talk without being overheard."

Sam pushed open a door and the three of them entered. "Grab that table down the back," he said, pointing to the table at the furthest end of the canteen. "I'll get us coffee."

Con and Frank wove their way through the almost empty canteen to the table Sam had indicated. As they sat down, they could see Sam being served. Con glanced around the canteen, his eyes alert but he couldn't see anyone that would be watching them; a bunch of doctors sat near the register laughing loudly, two nurses were sequestered in a corner whispering intently to one another, an elderly patient sat by the wall staring morosely into a cup of tea and two women were chatting to a small little girl who was obviously a patient. He felt himself relax. They could talk freely here.

"Sam, what did you discover in Washington?" Frank asked anxiously as the detective joined them.

"You were right about the post boxes, Frank," Sam replied in a low voice, sitting into the chair beside the teenager. "I found an envelope with information on this case."

"What sort of information?"

"A lot of it was stuff we knew already; concerns about a terrorist attack, the kidnapping of the Harris family as well as a file on Beschastnykh, but it also contained stuff we didn't know."

"Like what?"

"It had information about a right-wing extremist group called The Order, also known as Brüder Schweigen; that's German for Brothers Keep Silent," Sam explained. "The group had all but disbanded until a few years ago, but some of the group's original members started recruiting again and got involved in criminal activities which put them on the FBI's radar."

"Are they the Terrorist group we're dealing with? Frank asked.

Sam nodded. "Beschastnykh joined them two years ago and since then, their numbers have grown and their actions have gotten more dangerous. They blew up an abortion clinic last year; three people were killed."

"But why?" Frank demanded. "What are they trying to prove?"

"Nothing," Sam answered in disgust. "They're a bunch of elitist white supremacists trying to unseat a government they think is too liberal and who will destroy the country if they're allowed to remain in control."

"Not to mention that they think there are several members of the government working to bring the country down from within," Con added.

"So basically, they just want to overthrow the government because of a few crackpot conspiracy theories? Well that's just peachy!" grumbled Frank sarcastically.

"Crackpot conspiracy theories or not, these men are dangerous," Sam told him seriously. "They believe in their cause and they don't care who they hurt to make their point."

Frank had another thought. "How does the FBI know all this?"

"They've had someone undercover with that terrorist cell for at least six months," Sam answered. "That's also how they knew Beschastnykh was involved."

"So why did they need Dad to go undercover if they already had someone undercover?"

"After the kidnapping of the Harris family, the terrorists were one step nearer to the attack. The mole got word to the FBI that all the family members were being held at different locations; he couldn't free them all without being suspected so he needed someone else to do it, someone to slow down the threat of a terrorist attack until he discovered where the target was."

"But then they could have suspected Dad after Riley was freed!" cried Frank. "How do we know they haven't killed him?"

"They haven't," Sam reassured him. "Trust me on that and I'll explain in a minute." The teenager nodded and tried to swallow his burgeoning panic as Con patted him on the arm.

"Your Dad was hired because the Deputy Director suspected a mole in the bureau," Sam continued. "The identity of the first undercover agent was already at risk and he was afraid that a second agent's identity would be at risk before he even made it undercover so he called on someone from outside the bureau, someone he trusted."

"Dad," said Frank simply and Sam nodded.

"The file doesn't say how your Dad managed to infiltrate that cell so quickly but we know he did because Riley saw him working with these men. Jake couldn't find any evidence of your Dad's involvement in this case so we got this information from Agent Lynch."

"What! He told you?" Frank was shocked.

"It was an exchange of information," Sam informed him. "We told him about Riley and what Jake left for me in Washington."

"You told him?"

"We had to, Frank," Con put in quietly. "With Riley back in the terrorists' hands, an attack could happen any day now. Besides, Jake uncovered the identity of the mole."

Frank was thrown. "What? Who?"

"An agent from the terrorist unit called Howard Finn. He was arrested a few hours ago and they have him in interrogation now, but he's not talking."

"But how did Jake know who he was when the FBI didn't?"

Sam shook his head. "That part is bothering me. Jake conducted his own investigation after I contacted him for help. He found out that Finn served with Vogel in Mogadishu and had remained in contact with him, so he dug deeper and found out Vogel had been suspected of working with Beschastnykh on a failed terrorist attack and connected the dots from there. It wasn't a hard connection to make so why didn't the FBI make it sooner?"

"Maybe because Howard was feeding them incorrect information?" Con suggested. "We know that he was the one who flagged the files Jake was searching and probably alerted the terrorists to Jake's investigation."

"And made him a target," said Sam bitterly.

"You couldn't have known what was going to happen," Con told his friend quietly. "You only asked him to look for a file, not investigate this case."

"He'd still be alive if I hadn't."

"What about Dad?" Frank interrupted, feeling bad for Sam but needing to know about his father. "You said he was okay, how do you know?"

"I got a letter from him."

"You WHAT?" Frank exploded then lowered his voice as Sam shot him a warning look. "Sam, how could you not tell me this sooner?"

"Because I needed to explain everything to you before you got distracted. Here's the letter." He withdrew a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Frank. The teenager read the short note quickly.

_Sam, find Mother Mary. Fenton._

It was his father's writing but the note was far too short and cryptic to make anything of it. Frank looked up. "Who the heck is Mother Mary?"

Sam shrugged. "You've got me. But at least we know Fenton is okay, the postmark is dated three days ago."

Relief flooded Frank. His father was alive and okay. He felt the knot of tension in his chest and stomach loosen slightly. "What did the CIA and the FBI make of this?"

"We didn't tell them about this letter," replied Sam. "For one thing, I didn't get the letter until I got back from Washington and for another, I want to find this Mother Mary before they do. They might have shared information with us today but that was only because we had information they wanted. Anything else they discover, they're going to keep hidden from us. I'm going to see if I can find a connection between this Mother Mary and the Harris family."

"And you need to get back to bed," Con cut in as Frank yawned widely. "It's getting late and you're not exactly back to full fitness yet."

"Okay," Frank agreed, feeling that he may sleep somewhat better knowing his father was okay. "Will you guys let me know what you find out tomorrow?"

"You know we will," Sam reassured him as they all stood up and moved towards the door. "We'll be back tomorrow to talk to Joe but, Frank, be careful what you tell him if you see him before we do. Bear in mind that his room could be bugged too." Frank nodded.

Con held open a door for him and they exited the canteen. "There's a small exit to the end of this corridor," he told Frank with a jerk of his thumb. "We're going to head out this way. Will you be okay to make it back to your room?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "Jeez, you sound like Mom! I'll be fine. I can take the elevator and it's only a short walk."

Con grinned at the independent teenager in front of him. "Alright, Frank, but if you get found in a heap halfway back, we weren't here!"

"My lips are sealed," he laughed. "See you tomorrow."

With a light clap to his shoulder, Con and Sam walked away and Frank hurried in the opposite direction back to his room. Deep in thought, he never heard the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

Suddenly a hand clamped itself over his mouth and an arm snaked its way around his shoulders. With a muffled cry, Frank was dragged backwards into a darkened room.

_**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I know I say it every time but I really do appreciate it when you take the time to review after reading. :) Also, just wondering if everyone is following the story okay or are they finding the plot a little convoluted? I'm working on the last three chapters of the story and finding it a little difficult to tie up some of the loose ends (I know exactly where I want to go but the story seems to be refusing to co-operate!) so I guess it started me thinking did I make things a little hard to follow. Anyway, I probably won't be on again before the weekend so hope everyone has a nice weekend!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

With no-one in sight, Frank struggled frantically against his attacker as he was dragged backwards into the dark room. Desperately, he smashed his good arm backwards into the assailant's stomach and was rewarded with a soft 'ooomph' and a slight loosening of the hand clamped over his mouth.

"Help!" the teenager cried, wrenching himself free. "HELP!"

"Frank, shhhhhhh!" a familiar voice pleaded.

"Riley?" Frank turned around in gob-smacked amazement. "What…How…We thought you were kidnapped!"

"I figured you might," he said tiredly. "I'm sorry, Frank, but I didn't know what else to do."

The teenager surveyed the young man. Since he had last seen him, Riley had dyed his hair black, taken out his piercing and acquired a small beard. His clothes had a distinctly crumpled appearance and his face carried a careworn expression; Riley looked like he had aged five years in just a few days. "Are you okay?"

"I'm the one who should be asking you that, how are you feeling?"

"Fine. But, Riley−"

"What about Joe?" the young man interrupted.

"He woke up this morning. Riley, what _happened_? How did you get away?"

Riley closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pure luck. I was reading a book upstairs at Con's when I heard something downstairs. I knew I was the only one in the house so I peeked over the banister. I saw two men in dark clothes coming out of the kitchen so I went back to the room, climbed out the window and down the trellis, and then just ran like the dickens! I didn't dare go back to Con's and I didn't know what to do so I've been sleeping rough for days. I may not smell the best." The young man wrinkled his nose in distaste as he glanced down at himself. "I've been hanging around the hospital hoping I'd see Sam or Con, but then I saw you walking down the hall and I just grabbed you! Sorry if I gave you a fright, I didn't really think about what I was doing."

"That's okay," Frank reassured him. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Frank, what do I do? I don't know how they found me or what to do next!"

"I know how they found you, my hospital room was bugged and they heard me asking Sam about you. Sorry, Riley."

"Don't apologize. I don't know where I'd be if you guys hadn't helped me. If anything, it's me who should be apologizing to you; look at what happened to you and Joe for getting involved."

Frank waved away his concern. "We were already involved before you came along. It's our Dad's case."

"So, what do I do?"

"You need to stay somewhere until I can let Sam and Con know that you're okay. Wait here, I'll get some money from the ATM downstairs."

Riley sat on the nearest trolley and glanced apprehensively around the room while Frank dashed out. His heart was racing as he withdrew money from his savings account. After their phones were bugged, he didn't dare call Sam and Con to let them know where Riley was. Head starting to throb slightly, Frank hurried back to the room where Riley was. "Here," he gasped, shoving a fistful of bills into Riley's hand. "Book into the Bayport Motel under the name Phil Cohen, I'll send Sam and Con to you tomorrow."

"Frank, I can't accept this much." Riley tried to push the notes back into the dark-haired teenager's hand.

Frank refused. "Think of it as a public service," he joked. "You need a shower!"

**xxx**

That night, as Frank tossed and turned restlessly in the uncomfortable hospital bed, it felt like daylight would never arrive. Concerns about who could have bugged his room kept floating through his mind, not to mention frustrated brainstorming as to the identity of the mysterious Mother Mary coupled with worry about Riley's safety. They whirled through his mind over and over until Frank felt like someone had conked him in the head with a crowbar for the second time. It was a very tired and red-eyed teenager who greeted Laura Hardy when she arrived the next morning.

"Gracious!" the petite woman exclaimed when she saw her son. "Frank, are you alright? You look terrible."

"I'm fine," he replied as she studied him anxiously. "I just couldn't sleep last night. It's kinda hard to sleep in here."

At this she smiled. "Well then, I have good news. I just spoke with Dr. Arnolds and he said you can go home today…provided you rest and take it easy." She fixed him with a stern eye as though she doubted he would follow the doctor's words.

"I'll rest at home!" Frank assured her quickly. "I'll lie down and everything! Please, Mom, can I go home?"

"Alright, honey, you can go home. Gertrude arrived this morning so she can keep an eye on you when I'm here with Joe. I'll go talk to the nurse and sort out the discharge papers. Why don't you go visit Joe? I'm sure he's awake by now."

"Okay," said Frank enthuastically, throwing off the covers quickly.

"Easy, Frank," his mother admonished. "Just because you're being discharged doesn't mean you can start hopping around like that."

"Sorry, Mom. Where are my clothes?"

"You can change afterwards. The doctor wants to check you over before you leave."

Frank nodded and haphazardly pulled on his robe before bending to pull his slippers from under the bed and receiving a small twinge of pain in his arm.

"Easy, Frank," his mother reminded him again, rolling her eyes as she left the room.

"Uh-huh," the dark-haired teenager grunted, not really hearing her as he put on his slippers. Hurrying out the door, he moved quickly to the elevator, pleased that some of his old mobility seemed to be returning. His head only hurt if he moved too fast, although his arm was still inclined to pain him, but the weak feeling in his body seemed to have left him. As he stepped into the elevator and the doors slid closed, Frank caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored surface and winced. He kept forgetting that his face was a fabulous array of fading purple, yellow and black from the beating.

The doors of the elevator pinged open and Frank in his eager haste, jumped out and collided with an orderly. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, ricocheting backwards.

"Watch where you're going kid," the man snapped brusquely, pushing past him into the elevator.

Frank stared for a second before shrugging and continuing down the hall to the ICU. He arrived at his brother's room to find Joe awake. He was propped up with several pillows, manically pressing buttons on the remote with a zeal Frank recognized as boredom.

"Don't wear the buttons out," the older boy joked. "What'll you do to pass the time then?"

Joe's face brightened when he saw his brother. "Man, am I glad to see you; I'm bored out of my skull here!"

Frank laughed. "Guess you're feeling better then."

"Yeah, they stopped given me drugs that make me sleepy. Only problem is, I've been awake since eight with nothing to do. Wonder when I can go home?"

"Joe, you're recovering from two stab wounds, you have to take it easy!" Frank reminded him severely, conveniently forgetting that he had been equally as frustrated with being bedbound in the wake of getting released from the hospital. "Aren't you in any pain?"

"A bit," Joe admitted, shifting gingerly. "But they're giving me stuff for it and it's not too bad so long as I don't move much. They're not letting me out of bed just yet and I have to use a bed pan to…you know." He waved his hand in an expansive gesture with an expression of distaste on his face. "But they're letting me out of bed later for a few minutes walk around the room. Dr. Walsh is worried about blood clots."

"Blood clots?" Frank repeated sharply.

Joe rolled his eyes. "Relax, Frank. It's just a precaution after surgery."

"Right. About that." Frank shuffled uneasily on his feet and glanced nervously around the room. Joe recognized the nervous apology that was about to issue from his brother's mouth and stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't," he said softly.

Frank was confused. "Don't what?"

"Don't apologize. Frank, I can see it in your face that you're blaming yourself for all this and it's not your fault."

"I'm the oldest, I should have been looking out for you and instead I led you right into danger where this happened!" He gave a tremulous shrug towards the bed.

Joe rolled his eyes again. "Okay, first, that 'I'm the eldest' speech is really getting old. Frank, I'm sixteen! I'm not a little kid anymore. Second, I'm the one who came out yelling like a lunatic when I saw the building was on fire! Talk about literally shouting my presence to Mr. Scarface−"

"He's the one who stabbed you?" Frank interrupted, feeling rage at Vogel.

Joe nodded. "Yeah. Cheerful guy, likes his work."

"That's not funny, Joe!"

"Okay, bad joke," the blond boy acknowledged. "But what does it take to get you to crack a smile? Jeez, Frank, you look like someone's died! And this whole 'it's all my fault' thing that you've got going on needs to stop. I'm a big boy and I can make my own decisions…even if they're pretty stupid sometimes."

"Most of the time," Frank couldn't help but mutter.

"Whatever. Look, Frank, the point is I'm responsible for me and I can make stupid decisions just fine without your help."

"Your decisions haven't landed you in the ICU, have they?"

"This one did."

Frank was shaking his head. "You didn't make that decision. It was my idea to go down the pier and see what was happening; I suggested checking out the warehouse."

"And you were nowhere near me when I decided to charge at the warehouse and land myself here," stated Joe firmly. "Boy and people say I'm the stubborn one! You may have landed yourself out of the frying pan and into the fire, literally" − Frank rolled his eyes at the bad pun − "but I'm the one who landed myself here by doing what I always do, charging in without thinking."

"You're just saying that."

"Right, because lying here and arguing with my pig-headed brother is something I really feel like doing at the moment," snorted Joe sarcastically. "Frank, cut it out. You're not to blame, end of story."

"I feel responsible," Frank insisted. "I made the decisions that night that nearly got us both killed!"

"And did I talk you out of it?" Joe shot back. "Did I even try?"

"I should have been looking out for you," Frank said regretfully. "I know you said you hate this speech but I _am_ the eldest and I should have been looking out for you."

"Oh for crying out loud!" groaned Joe despairingly. "Do you even hear yourself? 'Cause sometimes, I wonder."

"Joe−"

"I'm not listening! You are a great big brother, probably the best, but right now you are bugging the hell out of me! Why do you always have to feel so responsible for everyone? You didn't make me go down the docks. You didn't force me to come out from my nice safe hiding spot and yell loud enough for anyone in a two mile radius to hear me. I did that. Me. So can you _please_ stop blaming yourself and just tell me what I missed while playing sleeping beauty for the last few days?"

Frank gave a watery smile at his brother's half-irritated, half-amused face. "Sleeping beauty? Hate to break it to you bro, but you're no oil painting."

"You're just jealous 'cause I got all the looks in the family," Joe responded cheerfully. "Now, are we done with this stupid debate or am I going to have to toss you out of the room?"

"I'd like to see you try! But yeah, we're done."

"Good. So, tell me, what's been happening? Any word from Dad?"

Aware that the room might be bugged, Frank shook his head and felt his gut twist as his brother's face fell. "Nothing?" Joe whispered.

"No," said Frank, making a mental note to write everything down and give it to Joe to read. "And Riley's missing."

"Riley's _what_?"

Frank filled him in everything that had happened up until the discovery of the bug in his room. When he was finished, Joe gave a sharp intake of breath. "But how did they find out where Riley is?"

"Beats me," Frank lied, feeling terrible at not being able to give his brother the full story.

A knock at the door drew their attention. They looked up to see Sam and Con. Both were beaming at Joe. "How're you feeling, Kiddo?" Sam asked, moving over to the bed and looking down at the blond teenager.

"Okay," said Joe, as Sam clapped a hand gently to his shoulder.

"It's good to see you in one piece," Con added, sitting in the easy chair beside the bed.

"Feels pretty good to be in one piece," Joe replied and Con smiled at him.

"How are you feeling, Frank?" Sam wanted to know.

"Better. The doctors are discharging me today."

"So I'm going to be the only one left here?" Joe grumbled. "Well, that's just swell!"

Sam hid a smile. "Cheer up, Joe. I'm sure they'll let you home soon enough."

Joe muttered something under his breath that the rest of them didn't catch.

Frank turned to Sam. "I was just filling Joe in on what's been happening."

"Yeah, all good news," the blond teenager groused. "Makes me wish I'd stayed unconscious."

"Joe!" Frank berated him.

"What about you, Joe?" Sam asked. "Have you told Frank what happened to you?" Joe shook his head. "Feel up to telling us?"

"Sure." He started the tale of what happened after Frank had entered the warehouse right up to Vogel stabbing him and dropping him off the pier. "I don't really remember anything after that," Joe concluded.

"Vogel stayed behind?" Con wondered aloud while Frank silently gnashed his teeth in anger. "How did he leave the docks?"

"Good question," Sam replied seriously as Laura Hardy entered the room.

"Morning, honey, how are you…" her voice trailed off as she took in the visitors around Joe's bed and her face grew stern. "There'd better not be any detective talk going on in here! Joe's only just come around."

"We just came to hear Joe's story about what happened," Con told her, getting to his feet. "We'll leave now."

Not looking altogether satisfied, she glanced at her eldest. "Frank, you need to go back to your room for a final physical before the doctor will discharge you."

He nodded and looked to Con and Sam who were wishing Joe well and getting ready to leave. "I'll walk down with you guys," he told them casually. "I'll be back as soon as the doc checks me over," he reassured his brother who was looking dismayed at the rapid exit of his visitors.

The three of them left the room with Laura's suspicious eyes boring into their backs. Frank positioned himself between them and waited until they were several feet from Joe's room before speaking. "Sam, Con, I need to talk to you." The men looked at him. "Riley's okay, he came to see me yesterday after you left."

Shock written on their faces, both men were controlled enough to smother any outbursts of surprise and remained silent while Frank told them everything that had happened. When he was finished, Sam looked relieved. "We'll head straight over to the motel now and talk to Riley. He might know who Mother Mary is."

"You'd better get back to your room," Con added, "in case your mother gets there before you. We'll be in contact later to let you know how everything is going."

Frank nodded but felt a familiar tinge of frustration rise as the two men left. He was getting very tired of sitting around waiting for news.

**xxx**

It was late in the afternoon when Frank finally left the hospital. After the doctor had checked him over, Frank had packed his bag and written down everything that had happened so that Joe could read it. By the time he returned to his brother's room, Joe was sleeping. Not wanting to disturb him, Frank slipped the note under his pillow.

The ride home from the hospital was a silent one. Frank felt tired and was looking forward to getting home while his mother seemed quiet and pensive. "Mom, are you okay?"

"Hmmm?" she replied distractedly. "Oh. I'm fine, honey, just thinking."

"About Dad?"

She nodded. "I hope he's okay."

Frank wondered if he should tell his mother about the note from Fenton, she had seemed so adamant that she didn't want Frank and Joe involved in this case. He wasn't sure how she would react if she knew that Con and Sam were still keeping him apprised of the situation. Another look at his mother's sad face and Frank made up his mind. "Mom, Dad's okay." Hoping she wouldn't freak out, he told her about the cryptic note to Sam.

When he was done, his mother was silent for several minutes. Finally, she asked, "Why didn't Sam tell me about this note?" Frank shifted uncomfortably and didn't answer. Laura gave him a wry smile. "I suppose I don't really need to ask why, do I?"

"Not really."

Laura sighed. "I know I've been hard on Sam and I probably said some things I shouldn't have, but my children were hurt and I have the right to be angry at the person I trusted with their safety. You'll understand better when you're a parent, Frank, but reason and calm go out the window when the lives of your children are involved."

"I'm sorry we scared you, Mom," said Frank softly, realizing for the first time that he hadn't apologized to his mother for all the worry they had caused her.

She gave him a quick smile. "That's alright, honey. When you're a mom, you expect your children to worry and scare you. It's kind of in the job description." She winked and Frank laughed.

"Well, I promise we won't do that again."

"You'd better not," she teased as she turned the car onto Elm Street. "I think you've fulfilled my worry quota for the next ten years!"

"Does this mean you won't be so hard on Sam? He really never meant for us to get hurt."

"I know, Frank." She sighed. "I'll talk to Sam later and work things out. I know he meant well."

Frank felt a weight lift from his shoulders as his mother pulled into their driveway. The tension between Laura and Sam had really bothered him because he still felt responsible for everything that had happened, and guilty that Sam was the one taking the blame.

"Home sweet home," Laura smiled at him as she switched off the engine. "Are you ready to face Gertrude?"

Frank groaned. He had forgotten his aunt had returned home early from her cruise. Knowing how he looked, the dark-haired teenager guessed he was in for a humdinger of a lecture about the dangers of detective work.

Reluctantly, Frank got out of the car and followed his mother to the front porch. It was only then he spotted the patrol car in front of the house. Two officers sat in the front and he recognized one of them as Dave Eddings, a cheerful officer he had meet on several occasions. "Welcome home, Frank!" the officer called from the car.

"Thanks, Dave," Frank called back and cocked an eyebrow at his mother.

"Chief Collig sent them," she told him, opening the door. "He's had officers here around the clock since you boys were hurt."

Frank followed his mother into the house feeling guilty that Chief Collig had to use so many men to keep the Hardys safe and at the same time, touched that the he was going to such trouble to keep them safe. Removing his jacket, his thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream.

"Do-o-o Jee-sus, Frank Hardy! Look at the state of you!" His aunt appeared at his side, eyes flashing and finger wagging. "This is what happens when you get mixed up with terrorists, bombers and lunatics! Its not natural this detective work, none of it! You'll get yourselves killed yet, mark my words!"

Frank sighed and prepared himself for the sermon.

Gertrude ranted at her nephew for a full ten minutes only pausing sporadically to take a breath. When she finally ran out of steam, Frank gave her a weak smile. "It's nice to see you too, Auntie."

"Hmph!" his aunt snorted. "But you almost didn't see me, did you? You could have been killed!"

Frank was afraid his aunt was going to start in on him again, but instead the peppery woman gave him a swift hug and steered him towards the kitchen. "You're too skinny. They clearly weren't feeding you in that hospital, you need fattening up. Dinner is just about ready and I want to see you eat every bite, no excuses!"

Laura smiled at Frank as he entered the kitchen. She had disappeared as soon as Gertrude's lecture had started, having already heard a similar one that morning when the older woman had arrived.

"Laura, I'll do that!" Gertrude declared, spotting Laura setting the table. "You sit down and rest, you look exhausted. Honestly, this family, I've never seen anything like them for not looking after themselves."

Aunt Gertrude fussed and clucked under her breath as she bustled around the kitchen, serving up dinner, pausing occasionally to direct dark predictions at either Frank or Laura. Frank tried not to laugh as his mother rolled her eyes across the table at him. They had all heard Gertrude's dire proclamations about the dangers of detective work several times before.

"Meatloaf!" exclaimed Frank as his aunt put the pot on the table. Gertrude Hardy's meatloaf was famous in the family. "Thanks, Auntie!"

"Just make sure you clear that plate," she warned, dishing up the meal.

Frank listened rather than talked throughout the meal while his aunt enquired about Joe, fretted about Fenton, muttered darkly about terrorists and told them about her cruise.

When they were done, she sent Laura out to bring the officers in for some dinner and cleared away the remains of their meal. Frank watched his aunt fondly. He knew she could be opinionated and strong willed, but she had her family's best interests at heart and her lectures were just her way of expressing concern for their safety.

A noise in the hallway drew Frank's attention and his mother entered the kitchen with the two police officers. "Hey, Frank," Officer Eddings greeted him. "Good to see you're feeling better."

"Thanks, Dave."

"Sit down, boys," Gertrude instructed as she dished up more meatloaf. "You must be starving."

"Thank you, Miss Hardy," Officer Eddings replied, as he removed his hat. "This is very kind of you."

"Nonsense," she said briskly. "There's plenty to spare. And I don't believe I know you," she added peering at the other officer.

"Dan Wilcomb," the officer replied, holding out his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Ma'am."

Frank saw his aunt raise her eyebrow at the old school manners as she shook the officer's hand and grinned to himself. Aunt Gertrude was always suspicious of anything she perceived as 'too sweet to be wholesome.'

He was still smiling at his Aunt's suspicious expression when he felt a protracted yawn coming on and tried, in vain, to hide it from his mother.

"Are you feeling alright, honey?" she asked at once, putting her hand on his.

"I'm fine, just a little tired."

"You need a nap," she decided. "No buts," she added as Frank opened his mouth to argue. "You're only home on the agreement that you rest."

Frank sighed at his mother's firm expression. He was reluctant to leave the activity of the kitchen, but his mother was in extreme-mother-hen mode and Frank wouldn't put it past her to send him back to the hospital if he didn't rest.

Reluctantly saying good bye to the officers, he left the kitchen and headed for his bedroom. He had just reached the stairs when the phone rang. "I'll get it!" he called into the kitchen and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Frank!" his father's voice sounded on the other end.

"DAD! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Frank, listen. You need to take your mother and your brother and get out of the house!"

"What? Dad−"

"Please, Frank, there's no time! You're all in danger! Just get in the car right now and go straight to the Police Station, understand?"

Frank was alarmed and exchanged glances with his mother who had shot instantly to his side when she heard Frank cry out. "But, Dad−"

"Frank, I'll explain everything to you soon but you need to get out of there right now. Don't stop for anything, just GO!"

"Okay, Dad, okay."

"I'll be in touch soon," his father promised and hung up.

"What was that?" demanded Laura as Frank hung up the phone.

"He said we have to get out of the house right now," Frank told her. "We're all in danger."

"Well then let's get out of here," another voice cut in grimly and Frank looked up to see Officer Eddings staring at them from the doorway of the kitchen. He had been drawn by Frank's urgent tone. "Grab your jackets and get in the squad car," he ordered them.

His partner joined him. "What's going on?"

"We're leaving," said Officer Eddings shortly. "Miss Hardy, where's your purse?" he addressed Aunt Gertrude who was standing behind him, speechless for once.

"Let me just clear away−"

"No!" insisted Officer Eddings. "When Fenton Hardy says get out now, we get out now!"

Within minutes, the Hardy family were in the back of the patrol car and en route to the station. Nobody was speaking but Frank noticed that Officer Eddings kept checking his mirror.

The teenager glanced behind them and noticed that a dark coloured Sedan appeared to be following them. Unease furled in his gut and he caught Eddings' eye in the rear-view mirror. The officer gave an imperceptible shake of his head to indicate that Frank shouldn't say anything. His stomach tightened and he glanced at his mother beside him. She was clench-jawed and frightened looking and his aunt on the other side of her appeared grim. They were still ten minutes from the station; anything could happen in that time.

Frank fought the urge to yell at Eddings to drive faster; he knew the officer's controlled driving was so the men in the car behind them wouldn't suspect that he was aware of their presence. Frank guessed that the men were waiting until they got out of traffic to make a move. Their only hope was that the men wouldn't realise they were heading for Bayport Police Station.

They were only minutes from the station when suddenly the Sedan rear-ended the police car. Everyone jerked forward with the impact.

"What in the world…?" said Aunt Gertrude, amazed, glancing back just as the Sedan hit them again. "What are those hooligans up to?"

"GET DOWN!" screamed Officer Eddings, increasing his speed. The Hardy family ducked just as the back window shattered, spreading glass all over them. Someone was shooting at them.

_**A/N:** Updates may get a little more infrequent from this point onwards as the last chapter is refusing to co-operate and as I'm back in college, its kinda hard to force the damn thing into submission! The plan is to space the next five chapters out a bit more to give me time to get the last chapter done. Anyhoo, enjoy! :)_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Everyone hold on!" called Officer Eddings as the police car increased its speed. Frank could hear Officer Wilcomb on the car radio calling for help.

Officer Eddings swore loudly as the car jerked forward again. Frank winced as his head smacked off the seat in front.

"Frank!" his mother's voice cried.

From his crouched position, he turned his head to see his mother watching him. She too was bent forward. "I'm fine, Mom," he told her as another gunshot sounded.

"Son of a…." hissed officer Wilcomb, drawing his service revolver. "Stay down!" he ordered the Hardys, taking aim through the shattered rear window.

A bang erupted overhead, nearly deafening Frank. He started to feel a little dizzy.

"Hang on!" yelled Officer Eddings as the car veered sharply right. Frank guessed that they had made the turn for Bayport Police Station. His stomach clenched further. If only they could make it.

The men in the Sedan behind them were clearly afraid of that happening because the gunfire at once became more rapid followed by the sound of more glass shattering. Over the noise Frank heard his Aunt utter an expletive he would never have guessed her capable of and couldn't help but grin. Another loud bang sounded above him and Frank heard the screech of tires behind them. His head was throbbing. Somewhere over the din, Frank became aware of sirens. Gunfire sounded behind them again and Frank heard a cry of pain.

Heart pounding, he didn't dare raise his head but yelled, "Mom, Aunt Gertrude, are you okay?"

They answered in the affirmative as the sirens drew nearer. Officer Eddings yelled something about the Calvary and the car once more increased its speed. Something began to rattle at the back of the patrol car, followed by a screeching noise. Frank guessed the fender had come loose and was scraping along the road.

Another volley of gunfire exploded behind them as sirens roared past them on either side. Frank felt the car slow down.

"We're almost there!" yelled Officer Eddings. Seconds later, the car turned left and rolled to a halt. Loud voices yelled in the distance. "You guys can sit up now," Officer Eddings told the Hardys in a shaky voice.

Slowly pulling himself upright, Frank saw that they were in the parking lot of Bayport Police Station. Several police officers were running towards the car. Frank glanced quickly at his mother and aunt; they both appeared dazed but unhurt.

An officer reached the car and pulled open the door beside Frank. "Are you all okay? Is anybody hurt?" sounded the concerned voice of Con Riley.

Frank shook his head. "I don't think so. What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know," answered Con in a grim voice, helping Frank from the car. At the other side, Sam Radley was doing the same for Laura and Gertrude. It was then Frank noticed how damaged the car was.

He had been correct in thinking the fender had fallen. The trunk of the patrol car was crumpled inwards and the fender was hanging on by a single screw. The rear window had been completely shot out and Frank could see several cracks on the windscreen where bullets had exited through. The driver's side mirror was missing and Frank spied what looked suspiciously like bullet holes on the trunk and driver's door. He shivered.

His mother dashed to his side. "Frank, honey, are you okay?" she demanded anxiously, putting her hands on either side of his face as she checked him for injury.

"I'm fine, Mom," he mumbled, although his head was throbbing.

His aunt appeared on the other side of him, white-faced with anger. "Those scoundrels!" she gasped, nostrils flaring. "We might all have been killed!"

"Fortunately you weren't," Sam Radley told her as he joined them. "Lets get inside," he added anxiously, glancing around the parking lot.

They trouped up the steps of Bayport Police Station and were met at the front door by Chief Collig. "What in blazes is going on here?" he thundered, ushering them inside.

"I'd like to know that myself, Chief," answered Sam, directing the Hardys to the nearest seats. "What happened?"

"We were on our way here when those lunatics shot at us!" Laura answered angrily.

"But why?" asked Sam.

"I think it was to do with the case Dad's working on," replied Frank seriously and told them about the phone call from Fenton Hardy.

"Something must be going down," said Con. "Did he say anything else?"

Frank shook his head. "No."

"I'm calling Agent Lynch," decided Sam. "He needs to know about this."

As the detective disappeared, Frank noticed the group of officers clustered around a chair by one of the desks. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Dan was shot," Officer Eddings told them. They're just patching him up while waiting for the ambulance to arrive."

"What?" exclaimed Frank and his mother together, horrified.

"Will he be alright?" demanded Aunt Gertrude.

"He'll be fine," Officer Eddings reassured them. "They got him in the hand while he was shooting; it's not life-threatening."

"Officer Eddings, thank you," said Laura suddenly, standing up and embracing the officer. "You saved our lives."

The officer blushed. "It was nothing, Mrs Hardy."

"Call me Laura, please," she told him gently. "And it was not nothing. We would never have made it here without you."

"Laura's right," Chief Collig chimed in. "You did excellent work this evening, Eddings, you and Officer Wilcomb." Officer Eddings blushed further and mumbled something.

Another officer joined them. "Chief?"

"What is it, Ralston?"

"We heard back from the other cars…they lost the Sedan."

"They lost them!" exclaimed Con. "How?"

"They shot out the tires of Carey and Wheeler's car and it flipped. Malloy and Trent couldn't leave them."

"Are they alright?" demanded Chief Collig.

The officer nodded. "Cuts and bruises mostly. They're on their way back here now."

The Police Chief sighed. "Okay. Thank you, Ralston."

The younger officer nodded and made his way over to where his colleagues were gathered around their co-worker.

"So they got away?" said Con in disgust. "Wonderful. These guys really do mean business."

A few minutes later, Sam reappeared, looking grim. "We need to get to Washington," he told Con.

"What? Why?"

"I told Agent Lynch what happened here and he asked me to get to Washington ASAP. Something big is going down but he wouldn't tell me on the phone. I've called Jack Wayne; he'll meet us at the airport. We can be in Washington within two hours."

"Can I come?" asked Frank.

"No," said Sam and Laura at the same time. Laura looked at Sam in surprise.

"Sorry, buddy," said Sam gently. "But I think things are getting a little too hairy for you."

Frank growled in frustration. "Will you at least keep us updated?"

"You know we will," the detective told him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Watch out for yourself, and look after your Mom, okay?"

Frank nodded, unable to say anything; he was too irritated at being left behind once more.

"We can take my car. I'll get my keys and meet you at the car," Con said and disappeared.

"I'll call as soon as we know what's going on," Sam addressed the Hardys. "In the meantime, you guys should stay here. You'll be safe here."

The Hardys nodded and Sam turned to leave. "Sam, wait!" Laura called suddenly.

Surprised, he turned back and looked at her. "Yeah?"

"Take care of yourself, ok?" she said, a little awkwardly. "Stay safe."

His face broke out in a relieved smile. "You too. We'll be in contact soon, okay?"

She nodded and the Hardys watched silently as he left the police station.

**xxx**

Frank lay on a bunk in one of the cells, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Chief Collig had left two of the cells open for the Hardys if they needed to lie down. Wanting to be away from the hustle and bustle of the precinct's main body, Frank had taken him up on the offer.

In the two hours since Sam and Con had left, Bayport Police Station had been transformed into a precinct busy enough to rival that of a big city. An ambulance had arrived and took Officer Wilcomb to the hospital followed almost immediately by the return the four officers who had set out in pursuit of the Sedan. After their report, Chief Collig had called in some officers who were off duty to aid in the search for the mysterious Sedan and sent out an APB on the car as well as an extra officer to Joe's room at the hospital. He was just instructing the officers remaining in the station to inspect all the traffic cameras surrounding the area where the dramatic shot out had occurred when two FBI Agents who had remained in Bayport to investigate the terrorists arrived to talk to the Hardys. Frank's head was spinning from all the activity and he wanted a quiet place where he could think.

Worry and fear gnawed at the dark-haired teenager. His father's frantic phone call and the attack on the Hardys suggested that something big was indeed happening. Up until now, the terrorists had been operating under the police radar…what had drawn them out? And why were they now making a move on the Hardys? Had his father's cover been blown? Frank felt sick from fear and unease.

"Frank?" his mother's voice interrupted his musings. "I've brought you some coffee."

The teenager sat up and swung his long legs off the bunk. "Thanks, Mom," he said, taking the proffered cup. His mother sat down beside him.

"Are you okay?"

"I've been better. Where's Aunt Gertrude?"

"Taking a nap in the other cell." She grinned. "Only Gertrude could sleep at a time like this."

"What about you? You look like you could use a nap."

"Probably, but I doubt I could sleep. How did your father sound on the phone?"

"Scared," Frank admitted. "I wish I knew what was going on."

"Me too. I don't think your father has ever been involved in such a dangerous case before and that's saying something."

They both fell silent, each wondering where Fenton Hardy was and if he would be okay. Finally, Frank sighed and stood up. "Mom, I need to get some air. Why don't you rest here a while?"

"You're not going outside!" his mother objected at once.

"Mom, I'm in a police station filled with cops. What could possibly happen? Alright, alright," he added hastily as she opened her mouth to argue. "I won't go any further than the front door."

"Make sure you don't," his mother warned grimly.

Winding his way through Bayport Police Station, Frank sipped his coffee. The station was a hive of activity with men hurrying back and forth, phones ringing off the hook and several officers going back over the footage from traffic cameras to see what direction the dark Sedan may have taken. Chief Collig was holed up in his office with the FBI agents and even over the noise of the station, Frank could hear the Police Chief barking at the agents.

He grinned to himself. Chief Collig had not been impressed at how the FBI had handled this case, and had no intention of letting them enter his precinct and take over.

Frank could see his point. He couldn't understand how it had been so hard for the FBI to root out their mole when Agent Benford had been able to do it in such a short time. Moreover, despite having someone undercover with one of the terrorist cells, they still knew relatively little about the terrorist's plans. The more he thought about it, the more Frank wondered if there was more than one mole in the FBI. It was a troubling thought but it certainly explained why Fenton had been so reluctant to trust Riley's safety to law enforcement. Any police officer would have had to file a report, which would have instantly told the FBI where the young man was. All a rogue FBI agent would have had to do then was show up and claim to place Riley in protective custody. No one would question it because Riley's kidnapping had crossed state lines, giving the FBI jurisdiction.

Frank frowned to himself as he pushed open the front door and digested the troubling thought. He wondered if maybe Sam and Con flying straight to Washington was a good idea; everything seemed to be going down here in Bayport…what if they had been lured away? It was an unsettling thought.

_Maybe I'm just over-reacting?_ _Seeing trouble where there isn't any?_

He took another sip of his coffee. He wished Joe was here so they could talk it over. They worked well together and Frank often found that they came up with the best theories when they talked things out. His rational, analytical mind was the perfect contrast to Joe's more emotional and instinctive one. Between them, they usually had every angle covered. Unfortunately, Chief Collig was refusing to let any of the Hardys leave the station and Frank knew he couldn't call Joe at the hospital because of who might be listening. The dark-haired teenager sighed. He really missed his brother's optimism right now.

"Pssst! Frank!"

Frank jumped as a voice hissed from somewhere to his right. "Who's there?" he asked cautiously, moving back nearer to the door of the station.

"It's me, Riley!" A hand waved from inside the bushes the lined that steps to the Police Station.

"_Riley?_" Frank gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Con and Sam, what are you doing here?"

"It's a long story." Frank paused. "What are you doing in those bushes?"

"Hiding." The bushes moved as Riley wiggled out from them and appeared at the bottom of the steps.

However, he didn't come any closer and Frank noticed that he looked as though he might take flight at any second. "Riley, what's wrong?"

"Frank, I don't think its safe here," the young man told him nervously, watching the door behind Frank.

"What? Why?"

Riley hesitated and looked around. "Frank, those two guys in suits that entered about an hour ago, who are they?"

"FBI agents, why?"

"Because I'm nearly positive I saw one of them with my kidnappers earlier this evening."

Frank's heart sank. "Riley, are you sure?"

"No. They were too far away to be certain."

"Wait! You saw your kidnappers again?"

Riley nodded uneasily and looked around once more. "That's what I came to talk to Sam and Con about."

Frank glanced back through the glass doors into the police station. No one seemed to be taking any notice of him. Quickly, he flipped his coffee cup into a nearby trashcan and descended the steps towards Riley. "What happened?"

"My kidnappers came to my motel."

"What! How did you get away?"

"Guess luck was on my side again. I went to the diner across the road to grab something to eat and I was on my way back when I spotted the kidnappers outside my motel room. Frank, I'm almost sure that FBI agent was with them."

Frank's head was spinning. "How did they find you this time?"

Riley shrugged. "No idea. I just knew I couldn't go back to the motel. Sam and Con told me they'd be here all evening if I needed them so I came here. I arrived just in time to see those two FBI guys enter and after that I was too afraid to go in. I hung around out here hoping I'd see Sam or Con."

"They're not here; they left for Washington two hours ago!" Frank groaned. There was no way he could bring Riley into the Police Station now. After the news of the FBI agent, the only officer in there that he trusted one hundred percent was Chief Collig…who was holed up in his office with said FBI agent.

"What do we do, Frank?" Riley asked again.

Frank thought quickly. "We need to get you away from here and out of sight. Come on!"

The dark-haired teenager sprang off the steps and hurried towards the parking lot. Glancing around quickly, he spied Sam's car. Wordlessly and with Riley following close behind, he trotted over to Sam's car and dropped to his stomach. With his good arm, he felt beneath the underside of the car and felt triumphant when his hand closed on what he was looking for.

"What's that?" asked Riley as Frank withdrew his hand and stood up.

"Sam's spare key. He always keeps one taped to the underside of his car in case of emergencies."

"Where are we going?"

Frank unlocked the car door. "Somewhere not here. Can you drive? I'm still out of commission." He held up his heavily bandaged left arm."

"Sure thing," said Riley taking the key from Frank. "But where do we go?"

"Out of Bayport. Something is going on here and I don't think you're safe as long as you stay here. Can you think of anywhere it would be safe to go?"

Riley stood for a moment and then shook his head glumly.

"Then we just drive out of Bayport and take it from there," Frank decided. "I'll call Chief Collig once we're on the road to tell him where I've gone and let him know your suspicions about the FBI agent."

They climbed into the car and Riley started it up. Pulling out from the parking spot, he glanced nervously back towards the station. "Are you sure we're making the right move?"

"No," admitted Frank. "But I'm not willing to take the risk if you're right about that FBI agent."

Riley nodded and they drove in silence for some time before he asked, "Frank, what were you doing at the station?"

The Hardy boy explained all about his father's phone call and the crazy drive to the Police Station. When he was finished, Riley shook his head. "I wonder what's going on. Why are they suddenly making all these moves this evening?"

"I wish I knew. But judging from Dad's phone call, something big is definitely going on."

"Do you think your Dad is okay?"

"I hope so." Frank fell silent as he mediated on his father's call. Then a thought struck him. "Say, Riley, did Sam show you the note from my Dad? Do you know who Mother Mary is?"

Riley shook his head. "No clue."

"Damn." Frank stared out the window. Another lead to nowhere.

"Maybe she's someone your Dad knew?" suggested Riley.

Frank hadn't thought of that. "Maybe," he muttered thoughtfully, wracking his brains to think of who it might be.

"It sounds like someone who's a member of a religious order."

"It might not be a person either," Frank pointed out.

"What? You mean like a place? I didn't think of that." Riley paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Of course, certain places like Churches used to be considered a place of sanctuary where once inside, a person could be considered safe from persecution." Without noticing it, he slipped into academic mode. "Today, some people believe that's where the notion of the safe-house originated. It's the idea of claiming sanctuary or safety from perceived danger…" Riley's voice tailed off.

"What's wrong?" Frank asked. Riley's gaze was frozen on the road in front, his knuckles white as they clutched the steering wheel tightly. Frank glanced at where Riley was looking but there was nothing there. The streets of Bayport were quiet at this time of evening. "Riley, what is it?"

The young man turned to him with a somewhat stunned expression. "Frank, I think I know who Mother Mary is!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"What? I thought you said you didn't know who Mother Mary is!"

Riley looked bewildered. "I didn't. Its just…talking about Churches made me remember something. Maybe I'm wrong but…"

"What? Who is it?" Frank demanded.

"I think she might be a friend of my mom's, someone she grew up with." Riley wrinkled up his forehead. "Her name was Lizzie…Lizzie…darn! I can't remember! She and my mom grew up together. But while Mom went off to college, Lizzie joined a nunnery. She changed her name after taking her vows. She and Mom stayed friends and kept in touch by writing to each other regularly. I think she became Mother Superior of her convent a few years ago."

Frank was elated. Riley had to be right, the explanation made perfect sense.

"Why do you think your Dad wants us to find her?"

"I don't know, but if Dad said to find her then she has to be important! Riley, do you remember where her order is based?"

Riley shook his head. "We only visited once when I was a little kid. It's somewhere in Monmouth County. I remember that much because the name stuck with me."

"Monmouth County…New Jersey? Frank asked and Riley nodded. "Where did your mom grow up?"

"Pittsfield, Massachusetts…why?"

"You'll see. Head for New Jersey," Frank told him, taking out his cell phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"Con and Sam. I think they should know about this." Frank tried both their cell phones but got voicemail each time. "They must still be on the plane," he concluded, dialling another number.

A gruff voice answered. "Hello?"

"Chief Collig?"

"Frank? Where in blue blazes did you go?" exploded the Chief of Police. "Everyone here is frantic looking for you!"

"Sorry, Chief, something sort of came up."

"Frank, I don't care if you were abducted by aliens; get your ass back to this station!"

"Sorry, Chief, no can do," Frank replied, wincing when he heard the growl of anger at the other end. "But I need to tell you something. Are those two FBI agents still there?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Don't trust them. One of them may be working with the terrorists."

"I assume you have a good reason for that?" asked Chief Collig cautiously.

Frank guessed the two agents were still in his office. "Yes."

"Fine. Where are you now?"

"Not in Bayport anymore."

"Not in…Frank Hardy, did you steal a car or something?"

"Or something. Listen, Chief Collig, I need you to get a message to Con and Sam, its really important."

"I'm listening."

"Tell them Mother Mary grew up with Riley's mom. Her real name is Lizzie and she's Mother Superior at a convent somewhere in Monmouth County, New Jersey."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Trust me, they'll know. Do you have all that?"

Ezra Collig grunted. "Of course."

Chief Collig, will you tell my mother not to worry and that I'm okay?"

The resulting snort caused Frank's ear to tingle. "Son, when Laura Hardy gets her hands on you, you'll be far from okay."

Frank winced. "I'll be in touch, okay, Chief?"

As he hung up, Riley asked, "how are we going to find Mother Mary?"

"Improvise," Frank replied, once more dialling a number. "What's your mother's maiden name?"

"Reynolds. Frank, what−?" He fell silent as the Hardy boy held up his hand, listening hard to the phone ring.

"Hello?"

"Phil, it's me, Frank."

"Frank? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Listen, I need your help with something. Can you find a person for me if I give you some information?"

"I can try." There was a long pause. "Frank, aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"

"I was discharged today." He chuckled when he heard Phil mutter something about 'crazy detectives' on the other end. "So can you help?"

"Give me the information and I'll see what I can do."

Frank gave him a brief rundown of what they needed. "She grew up with a woman called Catherine Reynolds. Think that'll be enough?"

"I hope so. I'll do my best, Frank."

"Thanks, Phil. Call me as soon as you know?"

"Will do."

"Who was that?" Riley asked as Frank disconnected the call."

"Phil Cohen, a good friend of mine. If anyone can find out where this Mother Mary is, he can."

"Do you trust him?"

"Of course, why?"

Riley shrugged. "I don't know. It just seems that, well…the kidnappers have found me twice now _and_ there was a mole in the FBI, maybe two! I'm just wondering who we really can trust."

"We can trust Phil," Frank said firmly.

Riley glanced at him uneasily. "I hope you're right."

They fell silent, lapsing into uneasy thoughts. Frank felt tired and his head was throbbing. He had a suspicious feeling that he had really overdone it and would probably regret it before the night was out. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headrest. He hoped he hadn't made a stupid move by leaving Bayport. _I'm becoming more reckless by the day with this case_, he thought ruefully. _Joe would be proud._ He'd be lucky if his mother didn't ground him for eternity for this move.

They were well outside Bayport city limits before Frank's phone rang. He snatched it up. "Phil, what did you find?"

"Found a woman who may match your description, her name is Elizabeth Connors," came the reply. "She's Mother Superior of a convent in Tinton Falls. It's a borough outside Middletown. Does that sound about right?"

"Hang on a sec, Phil." Frank covered the mouthpiece. "Does Elizabeth Connors sound familiar to you?" he addressed Riley who slapped the steering wheel.

"Connors! _That's_ it!"

Frank returned to the call. "Phil, you're a genius! Do you have directions?"

"Emailing them to your phone right now."

"Phil, I owe you big time, thank you!" said Frank fervently.

"Yeah, yeah. Just try not to get yourself killed okay?"

"Don't I always?"

"No, not really," came the reply just before Phil hung up.

"We're on the right track?" asked Riley hopefully.

"We're on the right track," Frank confirmed, reaching into the glove box and pulling out a map and a torch. Consulting the directions Phil had just sent him, Frank used his finger and the torch to trace a route. "Stay on this road for the next few miles," he told Riley. "There's a gas station not far ahead where we can fill up just before we hit the interstate. You up to a long drive?"

"Are you kidding me? If this helps us to get some answers then I can drive all night!"

"I hope you mean that," said Frank grimly. "Because you just might have to."

**xxx**

"Frank, wake up! I think we're here."

The older Hardy jerked awake. "Wha…?" he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes and a cramp from his neck. Sitting up, he glanced around.

The car was stopped in front of a massive stone building with a large wooden door. There was something very gothic about the old building and Frank shivered slightly. "What time is it?"

"After eight," Riley answered. "You fell asleep a few hours ago. You looked pretty beat so I let you sleep and followed the route we looked at when we stopped for gas. It was easier to find than I thought. I didn't even have to ask for directions."

They got out of the car and stared around them. Large trees lined the road to the convent and several imposing hills rose in the distance behind it. The only sound was bird song.

"Kinda isolated," Frank remarked and Riley nodded his agreement.

They made their way towards the large wooden door. "Guess this is it," Riley muttered, raising his hand to the old cast iron knocker and rapping it hard.

The knocking echoed back into the very core of the building. Frank shivered again. _Boy, this place would make a great location for a haunted movie!_ To Frank, it felt like something right out of the twilight zone.

It was several minutes before they heard a bolt being drawn and the door creaked open slowly. Riley shifted beside Frank and the teenager could tell that he felt like running. He felt a little like running himself.

As the door opened fully, a small, elderly nun with a gnarled face was revealed behind it. If she was surprised to see two strangers standing there at this hour of the morning, she didn't show it. "Can I help you?"

"Er, maybe," Frank replied. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour but it's very urgent. We're looking for Mother Mary."

The old nun looked them up and down and then beckoned them in. They entered into a large, dark and imposing stone hallway. It did nothing to alter the welcome of the building and the clang of the nun drawing the bolt on the door again sent chills through them. "Wait here," she instructed and disappeared through a door.

"Is it just me or did she seem not very surprised to see us?" Riley muttered to Frank.

"Didn't ask any questions about why we wanted to see Mother Mary either."

"Think that means we're in the right place?"

"I sure hope so."

They waited in the chilly hallway for more than fifteen minutes. Although his nap in the car had revived him somewhat, Frank's head still throbbed and he was relieved when the old nun reappeared.

"This way," she said, indicating with her finger. They followed her through the door into a long darkened room. A fire burned low in the grate at one end of the room giving it a slightly more welcoming feel. Frank didn't have time to examine the rest of the room as they crossed to a door on the other side and exited through that into a long corridor lined with doors. Frank's heart started to beat faster and he felt a horrible chill of foreboding as he realized that the corridor was very similar to the one he had dreamed about the night Riley came to Bayport.

They followed the nun to the end of the corridor and up a flight of stairs, then through several more rooms and two more flights of stairs. Frank felt a little dizzy. _This place is like a maze!_

The nun never spoke to them and they didn't make any attempt to engage her in conversation; Frank felt it would have been out of place in this silent building. Finally the nun stopped outside a door and knocked.

"Enter," said a low voice from inside.

The nun opened the door. "These are the young men, Mother," she announced, gesturing them into the room.

"Thank you, Sister Clarence. You may leave us."

The door closed behind them and Frank glanced around the room. It was small and cosy with a fireplace at one end; several easy chairs clustered around it. A fire was burning brightly in the grate. The other side of the room was lined with shelves, heaving with books. A desk stood in the centre of the room with two chairs in front of it and a window behind it. At the desk sat a woman wearing a dark nun's habit.

She stood to greet them as they approached the desk. "How can I help you?" she asked in a low, cool voice as she shook hands with each of them, peering deeply into their eyes as she did so. Her eyes were a steely-blue that suggested she would take no nonsense from anyone. But Frank also thought he detected warmth behind them.

She indicated that they should take a seat as she sat gracefully back into hers. They complied quickly.

"My name is Frank Hardy from Bayport. I know this sounds strange but my Dad sent a letter telling us to find you."

"Find me?" she repeated, a note of amusement in her voice. "But I haven't been lost."

"He just meant for us to locate you," Frank amended.

"And why would he ask you to do that?"

"We don't know," Frank confessed. "We were hoping you would be able to tell us."

"And who is your father?"

"Fenton Hardy. He's a detective."

The nun had been watching Frank carefully with her piercing eyes. Abruptly, she turned to Riley. "And what about you, young man?"

He started. "Me? My name is Riley Harris."

She gave no indication that she knew him, merely inclined her head. "So, boys, it seems you have come a long way, but I'm not quite sure what it is you want."

They looked at one another in dismay. Had they come to the wrong place after all?

"Er, Sister…Mother…Sister," Riley started, unsure how to begin.

"Sister will do fine."

"Sister, I think you knew my mother, Catherine Reynolds? You grew up together."

"I remember Catherine. How is she?"

"I don't know. It's been a few weeks since I've seen her."

"College?"

"Um, not exactly." There was silence for several minutes. Frank and Riley were unsure what to say next. Unperturbed, the nun said nothing. _Boy, she's one cool customer!_ Frank thought. "Sister, this is going to sound really strange but my Dad is a private detective working with the FBI and he's investigating a case about terrorism. You see, Riley's Dad used to be a researcher at Fort Detrick and he worked on Anthrax Vaccines−"

"When did you find that out?" Riley interrupted, staring at Frank.

Frank cringed as he remembered that they had hidden from Riley the fact that his whole family was missing.

Sensing something, Riley's eyes narrowed. "Frank, what aren't you telling me?"

Frank swallowed. "It wasn't just you that was kidnapped, Riley, they took your whole family."

"WHAT?" Riley bellowed, standing up so abruptly he knocked his chair backwards. "How could you not tell me that?"

"Riley, we're sorry; we didn't want to worry you−"

"Worry me? WORRY ME? Frank, all I've done since this whole thing started is worry! I was sick thinking about my family and wondering how they were handling my disappearance! And all this time, they didn't even _know_ I was missing because they were missing too?" Riley paled as a thought struck him. "Are they even alive?"

"I don't know," Frank admitted softly. "I'm guessing they are because nearest we can figure, the terrorists kidnapped you to force your Dad to weaponize anthrax."

Riley was trembling. "I can't believe this. How could you not tell me? They're my family, I deserved to know!"

"I know, but we thought−" Suddenly, it struck Frank that the nun was staying very quiet considering the scene that was unfolding in front of her desk. He glanced back at her. She was watching them calmly over the tips of her fingers. "You don't seem very surprised by all of this," he pointed out.

She smiled. "I don't?"

Frank shook his head, his expression hard as he studied the nun. "What aren't you telling us?"

"A great many things, Frank. But then, I know a great many things and not all of them pertain to you. Therefore, let me ask you this, what is it you want to know?"

"For starters, what do you know about Riley?"

"Quite a lot. His mother and I are very dear friends and she talks about her children often."

Frank exhaled with frustration. "Okay. What do you know about Riley and his family being kidnapped?"

"They were kidnapped to pressure Jonah into weaponizing anthrax. Your father rescued Riley and sent him to you and your brother to keep him safe. He had to remain behind to find out more about the terrorist attack and try to free the rest of Riley's family. How am I doing so far?"

"A little too well. How do you know this?"

"Your father told me."

Frank watched, open-mouthed, as picked up the phone on her desk and punched in a number. "Its safe," she spoke into the receiver then hung up. "You look a lot like your father, Frank. It was difficult to tell at first because your face is so bruised, but you do."

Frank was stunned. "How do you…when did you−?"

His stuttered question was interrupted by the door swinging open. A woman entered. "Riley!" she cried. "RILEY!"

"Mom!" the young man yelled and rushed to his mother, embracing her tightly.

Frank could only watch in baffled astonishment as Riley and his mother sobbed unashamedly in each other's arms.

"But I don't understand, how did she…what's going on?"

"I think I can explain that," said a familiar voice.

Frank's jaw dropped so hard, it hit his chest. Standing in the doorway was Fenton Hardy.

_**A/N:** Sorry this update took so long. I'm pretty swamped with assignments at college and not getting enough time to proof read. But thank you to everyone who review the last chapter, sending good karma your way. :) And hope you enjoy this chapter! :)_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

"D-Dad?" Frank gasped, his head reeling. His father was almost unrecognisable. He had acquired a beard and let his hair grow longer; both were liberally peppered with grey. He wore jeans with a dark t-shirt and several tattoos were visible on his arms. He looked nothing like Fenton Hardy.

"Hello, Frank." As Frank got slowly to his feet, Fenton crossed the room and enveloped his eldest son in a crushing hug.

"Dad," Frank whispered, clinging tightly to his father and breathing in the familiar smell. It was several minutes before he released his father.

"Frank, what happened?" his father asked, his voice laced with concern as one hand inspected Frank's face.

"You don't know?" The teenager was surprised. He would have thought all the terrorists were aware of the attacks on the Hardy brothers.

Fenton shook his head, his brows knitting as he spied the heavy bandage on Frank's left arm. "Who did this to you?"

Frank swallowed and glanced nervously at Riley, who was standing watching the Hardys with one arm around his mother. "The guys who kidnapped Riley."

Fenton's face darkened. "You mean they went after you before tonight?"

"Not quite." Frank related what had happened to them that fateful night at the warehouse.

When he finished, his father's face was ashen. "How's Joe doing?"

"He came around the day before yesterday. But he's still in the ICU."

"Will he be okay?" the detective's voice was shaky. Frank nodded. "What about you?" Fenton gently lifted Frank's injured arm. "How bad is this?"

"It's okay. I'm gonna need some skin grafts but it shouldn't scar too badly."

"Oh, Son!" Fenton Hardy's voice was thick with emotion as he hugged Frank to him once more.

Frank felt more than a little bewildered. He pulled away and looked at his father. "Dad, what's happening tonight? Why did you call us? Why are you _here_?"

A quiet voice interrupted them. "Before Fenton explains everything to you, why don't you all have a seat by the fire and I'll send for some coffee and toast?" Frank turned to see that Mother Mary was watching them with a warm expression. "You boys have come a long way and I'm sure you're in need of some sustenance."

Slightly dazed, Frank nodded as his father steered him towards one of the armchairs by the fire. He was a little hungry. He lowered himself into one of the chairs and his father perched on the armrest beside him. He seemed reluctant to leave Frank's side.

Across from them, Riley and his mother were sinking into two easy chairs while the Reverend Mother issued some quiet instructions on the phone before joining them by the fire.

"Dad, what's going on?" Frank demanded.

"Before I tell you anything, Frank, I'd like to know how you got here this evening. Where are Con and Sam?"

"Washington," replied Frank and filled his father in on everything that had happened while he was in hospital up to the events of the evening before.

"So you have managed to get word about this to Con and Sam?"

"Yeah, through Chief Collig. But, Dad, what about you? How did you get here? Aren't you supposed to be undercover?"

Fenton nodded. "You know I was hired by the FBI to infiltrate a terrorist group called The Order?"

"Agent Lynch told us. He didn't tell us how though."

"It wasn't easy," Fenton admitted. "The Order operates under a strict hierarchy and all new members are only admitted through a nomination from an existing member. Once in, their background is investigated and they still have to be vetted by someone from the top echelon of The Order. And even then, new members stay on the lowest rung of the hierarchy, carrying out grunt work without knowing why they're doing it or even who they're doing it for."

"So how did you get in?"

"The FBI have had an agent undercover with this particular terrorist organisation for almost a year. With his help, I was able to infiltrate one of the cells by pretending to be an ex-con out on parole and looking for some easy cash. The Deputy Director even created an identity and a record for me so that when the terrorists did a background check on me, they found a long rap sheet and a history of incarcerations." Fenton held out his arms and smiled grimly at them. "You are looking at Rick Johnson, ex-con from Philadelphia complete with a nicotine addiction." Ruefully, he held up his stained fingers.

"What about those?" Frank asked pointing to his tattoos. "Are they real?"

"Henna. The beard is real. I grew my hair longer and had grey roots put in. All of my old scars added to the tough guy appearance. I knew once I was undercover I would be watched closely so I needed a disguise that didn't wash away but wasn't difficult to maintain." He sighed. "Unfortunately, a mole in the FBI got wind that I was working the case and tipped the terrorists off. They stopped sharing information between cells and kept the lowest ranking Order members completely uninformed about their plans."

"But the FBI knew about the anthrax attack. How?"

"The undercover agent was in long enough to be informed about their plans for an attack, but not where or how. It was only when Jonah Harris and his family were kidnapped that the FBI were able to work out some of their plan. Unfortunately, because The Order were on the alert to infiltration, they divided their prisoners between each terrorist cell so that it would be harder to rescue them. I got lucky when I was assigned to the cell holding Riley prisoner, but it took more than a week before I was able to free him."

"Thanks for that, Mr Hardy," Riley broke in gratefully.

Fenton gave him a weak smile. "Once they had your sister in the US, their plan was to bring you all to wherever they're holding your father and force him to weaponize the stolen anthrax. He's been refusing to help them but they couldn't harm him because they need his expertise. They figured that once they had his entire family and threatened to kill them, he couldn't continue to refuse them."

"Is he okay?" Riley demanded anxiously.

"I don't know," Fenton admitted. "Because of the limits they've put on the exchange of information between cells, it's made it impossible to get any information about what's going on. We can't predict the moves they'll make or even where the other cells are located. I've no idea where your Dad was taken, I'm sorry. " He sighed. "They've been very clever, and any breaks that we've had, have been down to pure luck."

"Do you know where the attack is supposed to take place?" asked Frank.

Fenton shook his head. "I never made it off the bottom rung of the ladder. I was only with them a few weeks so they only trusted me with grunt work. And they watched me very closely, I couldn't even use the bathroom without someone following me! That's why I never contacted you guys," he added, his eyes on his son. "And I'm so sorry for all the worry I must have caused you."

"But how did you manage to make the first call to us?"

"Aside from watching Riley, the only other thing they let me do was go on supply runs with men from the cell. We were collecting ammunition from an arms smuggler the day I contacted you. Our cell leader was checking the shipment when the darndest thing happened." The detective gave a wry smile. "The arms smuggler had a heart attack!"

"Are you serious?" exclaimed Frank.

"Yup. Couldn't believe it. The rest of the smugglers started to panic and Isaiah − that was our cell leader − ordered me to find a first aid kit."

"Hard to believe he cared about the guy's health," Frank muttered.

Fenton raised an eyebrow. "He didn't. But this arms dealer had already been paid for another more important shipment and Isaiah was only protecting their investment."

"The anthrax," Frank guessed.

"The anthrax," confirmed Fenton grimly. "We were in an industrial area so I made for the nearest warehouse. Found a first aid kit right off the bat, but I also found a phone. I used it to call you quickly so you'd know I was okay. Besides, at that point I had planned to send Riley to Bayport so I needed you to be on the alert for his arrival."

"You know, that's something I never understood," Riley interjected. "Why didn't you want me to go to the police?"

"Because I knew there was at least one mole in the FBI, and I suspected more. A police officer would have had to file a report on your case, which would have immediately alerted the FBI to your whereabouts. All a rogue FBI agent would have had to do then was show up and put you in protective custody. Your kidnapping crossed state lines so the FBI had jurisdiction; no one would have questioned it."

Frank nodded his agreement. He had already come to that conclusion. "Dad, how did you get Riley out without suspicion?"

At that moment, the door opened and three nuns entered bearing trays. As they placed them on the low table beside Mother Mary, she thanked them quietly and they left the room. She immediately began to pour them all steaming mugs of coffee and passed out plates of toast and hot buttered biscuits. "Please continue," she indicated to Fenton as she served them all.

He nodded his thanks as he accepted a cup from her. "I slipped the guard some drugs and knocked him out. I had already created an alibi for myself because I had gone to the nearest town with two of the terrorists for some beers."

"Wait! They're terrorists and they took time off?" Frank demanded.

Fenton looked serious. "The vast majority of men in The Order have no idea what the upper levels are planning. They just follow orders and have a few beers in their down time. To make myself seem like a regular con, I had to do the same."

"Insane," Frank muttered, shaking his head.

"You have no idea," said Fenton. "Anyway, they hooked up with two prostitutes and I pretended to do the same, but instead I paid her to say that we had spent the night together. She had no problems with it, it was easy money for her and a free stay in a motel room." Fenton grimaced. "And, Frank? _Never_ tell your mother that part of the story!"

Frank grinned. "What about Aunt Gertrude?" His father shot him a daggers look. "Okay, okay. What happened then?"

"I had a dirt bike hidden on the outskirts of town and used it to hightail it back to the hideout; they were using an abandoned TB sanatorium that was once a cider plantation. I had found an old underground tunnel so I used that to get in and out undetected. I got Riley out the same way and once he was on the run, I used the dirt bike to get back to the motel. All I had to do then was head back with the other terrorists. Two of us delivered Riley's breakfast and 'discovered' that he was missing, clearing us from all suspicion."

"Nice job, Mr Hardy," said Riley admiringly.

Fenton smiled and inclined his head.

"What about Mrs Harris?" Frank wanted to know. "How did you get her out?"

"After Riley's escape, our cell was split up, interrogated and if you passed the interrogation, you were assigned to another cell. I spent over a week stockpiling arms at a storage facility in Philadelphia before I was reassigned to a remote mountain cabin in Pennsylvania. There was only one other Order member with me. At that point, I was sure my cover was blown and they'd brought me up there to kill me." His eyes were grim. "A few days after we arrived, they brought Catherine to the cabin. Two of them stayed behind, leaving just me and three terrorists to guard her."

"Why so few?" Frank wondered.

"I think that after Riley's escape, they decided that the less members who knew where she was the better," Fenton answered. "Besides, I think it was a test for me to see if I could be trusted. I knew that once I got Catherine out, my cover would be totally blown."

"But you risked it anyway?"

Fenton nodded grimly. "I had no choice. I could tell by the way higher level Order members were becoming more covert that something was in motion. I figured it was something to do with the anthrax attack so I laid a plan to get Catherine out of there, but first I had to fill her in on who I really was. Because there were only four of us, we had to take it in turns guarding Catherine and going on supply runs. I got her alone a few times and managed to explain what was going on. I asked her was there anywhere safe that she could go if I got her out."

"I immediately thought of here," Catherine interjected quietly, her gaze on Mother Mary who merely smiled warmly in response.

"But why not send Mrs Harris to us?" Frank wanted to know.

"Because the terrorists knew that Riley had headed towards Bayport; he called his family and they had the machine bugged. I started getting really scared then because I knew you could become targets." Fenton turned to his son and ruffled his hair gently. I didn't know they'd already hurt you so badly. I'm sorry about all this, Frank."

"It's not your fault, Dad!" Frank jumped to reassure his father instantly. "This happened because we didn't listen to Sam."

Fenton shook his head. "This happened because I took on a dangerous case, Frank."

"You had to take this case, Dad. And look at what you've achieved; Riley and Mrs Harris are safe." Frank hated to see his father blaming himself for something he had no control over. He was also starting to get an inkling of how Joe must have felt in the hospital the day before when he had tried to reassure Frank that he wasn't to blame for how things had turned out. _Is this what I'm like? Worrying about things I have no control over?_

"You saved my life and that of my son's, Fenton," Mrs Harris broke in. "We will be forever grateful to you for that."

The detective gave a small smile and Frank could tell that his father was thinking about Jonah Harris and Riley's sister, who were still in the hands of the terrorists. "Dad, why did you act now?"

Fenton sighed. "Like I said, I knew something was going down. Once The Order knew Riley had gone to Bayport, I knew I would never be able to send Catherine there. As soon as she told me about you, Reverend Mother, I knew this would be the safest place to send her. But I had to make sure someone trustworthy knew where to find her in case anything happened to me so I sent Sam a coded letter. I figured he would be able to work out who Mother Mary was with Riley's help."

"Not exactly," Riley put in sheepishly. "Me and Frank were on our way out of Bayport before I remembered."

"But you still remembered _and_ managed to find your way here."

"With Frank's help," Riley pointed out.

Fenton smiled at his son. "Chip off the old block, right, Frank?"

Frank grinned back. "Right. But how−" A loud bang echoed somewhere in the building interrupting him.

"What was that?" Fenton asked, turning to Mother Mary.

"I have no idea," she replied, getting to her feet and looking towards the door.

Suddenly, the door opened and two nuns hurried in looking panicked. "Reverend Mother!" the younger one exclaimed. "We're sorry to interrupt but there are men…breaking in!"

Fenton Hardy was on his feet at once. "It's them!"

"Oh my," said Catherine Harris weakly.

Mother Mary took charge. "Sister Marie, get word to all our sisters, there is no one here but us, understand? No matter what, do not tell them of our guests' presence!" Looking frightened, the younger nun left. The Mother Superior turned to the elder nun, "Sister Bridget, could I ask you to clear away some of these coffee things so that it looks like just one person has been here?"

Another bang echoed through the building as the older nun complied. Mother Mary turned to the silent group. "All of you follow me, quickly!" Her long dark habit flowed behind her as she swept from the room, the small group following her closely.

"Where are we going?" asked Fenton.

"The church," she answered.

"The church?" repeated Fenton, surprised. "Why?"

She smiled. "This building is very old and has many secrets. We may be able to keep yours hidden." Fenton didn't ask any more questions as they swiftly followed the nun down a maze of hallways and several flights of stairs.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Frank couldn't help but be amazed at the size of the building. _This place is huge!_

They exited the building into a large courtyard filled with flowers. Frank barely had time to acknowledge the imposing stone structure surrounding the courtyard as Mother Mary led them across the courtyard and into an old church.

The church was very old; it was built of stone, with dark wooden pews lining the aisle. Two confessionals stood to the left side of the church and the old cast iron chandelier that hung from the ceiling cast a dim light from the feeble bulbs. The morning sun streamed through the stained glass windows casting shadows throughout the church.

Frank didn't see anywhere they could hide.

"This way," Mother Mary indicated as she hurried down the aisle towards the altar. "Here." She dropped to her knees behind the marble altar. A large cupboard was built into the back of the altar and as she flung the cupboard doors open, Frank could see that it was used for storing the chalice and other accoutrements required for mass. Mother Mary pulled them all out, reached in and slid open a panel in the base of the cupboard, revealing a dark hole and a wooden ladder leading down into the dark. "No time to explain!" she snapped thrusting some candles and a box of matches into Riley's hands. "Get down there and stay quiet!"

Looking startled and scared, Riley climbed into the cupboard and descended the ladder.

"Catherine, you next," the Reverend Mother ordered as she helped her friend into the cupboard. The woman was slower than Riley and moved stiffly.

Beside Frank, he could see his father's eyes darting about the church. His gaze landed on a balcony over the altar. "Frank, get down there with Riley and his mom."

"What about you?"

"I'm going up there," he indicated the balcony overhead.

"What? No! Dad−"

"There's no time to argue, Frank! You and Riley came here in Sam's car. That car is outside and those guys are going to know the second they see it that someone is here. I need to pretend that I came in that car so they don't look for the rest of you."

"I'm not leaving you to face them by yourself!" argued Frank furiously.

"Frank, you're seventeen and injured to boot! You're not equipped to deal with these men!"

"Oh, and you are?"

"Frank, you need to get in here now," urged the Mother Superior as shouting erupted somewhere outside.

"No!" Frank leaned over and slid the panel shut, hiding the ladder once more.

His father grabbed his arm. "Frank, you need to get in there, now! These men are dangerous!"

"I'm not leaving you here!" Frank shook off his father's hand and began to put the items back under the altar to give it the appearance of being nothing more than a cupboard. Silently, the Reverend Mother assisted him.

"Frank," whispered Fenton. "Please don't be stupid."

Mother Mary closed the cupboard. "We don't have much time," she said, getting to her feet as the voices drew near. Crossing the altar, she pulled back a woven tapestry to reveal a door. "It leads to the balcony," she told them. "Get up there."

Fenton's face was grim as he clutched his son's shoulder and directed him through the door an up the rickety stone steps behind it. "I can't believe you pulled such a stupid stunt!" he whispered in Frank's ear. The teenager didn't reply. He knew his father was more scared than angry.

At the top of the stairs, they found themselves on a tiny balcony overlooking the altar. It was used to house the church organ and there was barely enough room for the Hardys to hide.

"Over here," Fenton said, thrusting his son into a corner between the organ and a large stone pillar. "Get down and stay down!" he ordered, moving to the other side of the balcony where he ducked behind the opposing pillar. Frank watched his father position himself at the top of the steps with a view of the church doors. Fenton Hardy's jaw was clenched so tight that Frank could see the veins straining in his neck. His father reached into the back of his jeans and to the dark-haired teenager's absolute shock, produced a gun just as a crash echoed outside the church door.

Frank shifted slightly so that he could see some of what was happening through a chink in the wooden railing without been seen. He could just make out the shape of the Reverend Mother placing candles on the altar and lighting them. The Hardy boy swallowed. _What is she doing? Why isn't she hiding?_

The doors of the church burst open and three men with guns strode in. Mother Mary glanced up. "Who are you and what do you want?" she asked calmly.

"Where are they?" snarled a man with an accent.

_Beschastnykh!_ Frank realized at once.

"Where are who?" she queried, her tone even.

"You know who!" shouted Beschastnykh. "Riley Harris and the Hardy kid!"

"I'm sorry," she answered calmly. "But I don't know who they are."

"Don't lie" he snapped in a dangerous voice, cocking his gun at her.

"Why do you think I'm lying?" Frank marveled at how calm her tone was. Three men with guns were standing in her church threatening her and she wasn't even flinching.

"Because there's a car outside that's travelled all the way from Bayport," Beschastnykh answered. "Know anyone from Bayport, Sister?"

"Why yes," she told him. "A man by the name of Fenton Hardy. Do you know him?"

Beschastnykh gave a strangled snarl. "Where is he?"

"In Bayport I imagine."

"Sister, you're a woman of the cloth and I don't want to hurt a woman of faith," Beschastnykh cocked the trigger of his gun. "But if you don't tell me what I want to know, I will kill you!"

"Stay down, Frank," whispered Fenton suddenly, peering around the pillar and aiming his gun. "I'm right here!" he shouted.

"You!" cried one of the men from the back. "I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

"Hello, Isaiah," said Fenton calmly.

"Where are they, Hardy?" Beschastnykh demanded, aiming his gun at Fenton. His face darkened when he realized the detective was partially hidden behind the stone pillar but still had a clear view of all of them.

"Where are who?"

"Don't play dumb! The Harris family."

"I thought you had the Harris family."

"Hardy, don't be a smartass! Thanks to you, we're down three family members."

_Three?_ Frank glanced at his father. Fenton Hardy gave nothing away, his aim steady as he kept his gun trained on Beschastnykh.

"It's putting us behind schedule," Beschastnykh continued. "Can't say I'm happy about that, Fenton, but I'd be willing to overlook it if you give us the Harris family."

"I don't know where they are."

"Don't LIE!" Beschastnykh growled. "I know for a fact the Harris boy is here. Came here with your boy Frank."

"How do you know they haven't left again?" countered Fenton.

"They got here just over an hour ago. You didn't have time to send them anywhere."

Fenton remained silent.

"Don't be stupid, Hardy! We just want the Harris family. Give them to us and you and your kid can walk out of here unhurt."

Again, Fenton said nothing.

"Fine," Beschastnykh snapped finally. "If that's how you want to play it." He turned towards the church doors and yelled, "Bring him in."

The church doors creaked open and Frank saw his father's face drain of colour. He shifted trying to get a better look.

His heart dropped like a stone. Standing between two armed men was Joe.

_**A/N:** Dun dun dun! Hope this makes you happy, Caranath, told you Joe would make an appearance! :D And kudos to Lazypanther for guessing where things would go, the Hardy's would be proud. :) Thanks everyone for your lovely comments and hope you enjoyed this chapter._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Joe was ready to climb the walls. Confined to a hospital bed, with no one to keep him company, the teenager's restless nature was scratching beneath the surface. His mother had promised to return later in the evening after she had settled Frank at home; his brother had been discharged while he was sleeping.

Joe sighed. It was almost five pm, yet late evening felt very far away. He was bored and a visitor would have been nice to help distract him from the pain. The youngest Hardy was uncomfortably aware of his injuries now that the doctors had stopped medicating him so heavily. Joe was glad to be in the land of consciousness again, he just wished that consciousness didn't have to equal pain.

After more than an hour of half-heartedly flicking between channels, Joe finally gave in and rang for the nurse. She appeared a few minutes later. "You need something, dear?"

"I don't suppose I could have something for the pain?" he asked reluctantly, annoyed at having to ask and feeling like a small child.

The nurse put a hand to his forehead. "You look a little flushed. Let me just talk to Dr. Walsh and we'll see what we can do, mmm?"

Joe nodded. The nurse disappeared and he shifted, trying to find a comfortable place in the bed. Something pricked his upper back. "What is that?" he muttered, reaching back and feeling the sheets beneath him. The stitches on his back and stomach pulled and he winced. His hand brushed against what felt like paper. Grasping it clumsily, Joe pulled a sheet of paper out from under his pillow. He frowned as he recognised Frank's small, slightly spidery writing.

He read the note quickly, barely digesting everything his brother had written; Riley was safe, their rooms were bugged and Sam had heard from their father. He was just about to read the letter again when a doctor walked into his room. Vaguely recognising his surgeon, Dr. Walsh, he scrunched the paper in his hand.

"Well, Joe, Doris tells me that you're having a little pain," she said briskly and he nodded. "Let's have a look, shall we?" She rolled the blankets to his waist and pushed the hospital gown to one side. Then she slowly peeled back the surgical bandages. Joe inhaled sharply as he glimpsed the red, angry-looking scar across his stomach for the first time.

"Let me know if you feel any pain, okay?" she requested, lightly pressing either side of the scar. Joe yelped a little as pain flared just above the stab wound. "Is the pain very sharp here?" she asked, indicating. Joe nodded and she frowned. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

"A little while. Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure. You shouldn't be experiencing sharp pain at this stage. I'm going to send you for an ultrasound to see what the problem is. Has your Mom gone home?"

"She said she'd be back later. She was bringing Frank home." Joe was beginning to wonder if he should be alarmed.

"Try not to worry, Joe, it's probably just something small." Resealing the surgical bandages, she fixed his hospital gown and pulled back up the covers. "I'm going to get someone to bring you down to X-ray, alright?"

"Okay."

Joe watched as his doctor stopped to say something to the police officers at the door. His brows knitted. _Weird, since when were there two guards outside my door?_

He called to the officers and attempted to engage them in conversation. They answered him cheerfully enough, but Joe found them evasive whenever it came to the topic of why there were now two of them at his door. He was still trying to squeeze information out of them almost twenty minutes later when an orderly appeared with a wheelchair.

"Feel up to a ride?" The man quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is this your first time out of bed since the surgery?"

"Yeah."

"We'll take it slow so." The orderly folded the blankets down and helped Joe to sit up. "Can you move your legs over the side?"

Slowly and painfully, with the orderly's help, the boy complied. "These hospital gowns don't exactly keep the heat in," he complained.

"They can be pretty drafty," the man agreed, unhooking Joe's IV from the stand before retying the strings of the gown and helping him into his robe.

"Drafty? I feel naked in this thing," Joe muttered.

The orderly chuckled as he helped Joe off the bed and into the wheelchair. He placed the IV bag on Joe's knee and was just putting some slippers on the teenager's feet when a voice interrupted them.

"Are you going somewhere?"

Joe and the orderly glanced up to see a tall man in a dark suit. "Ultrasound," the orderly replied. "Who are you?"

"Agent Cole, FBI," the man replied, flashing his badge. "I was hoping to ask Joe some questions."

"Well, not right now you can't," the orderly replied as he wheeled Joe from the room. "Not unless you plan on walking and talking."

"If its okay with Joe, I think I'll do that. I'm hoping to get back to Washington tonight."

Joe shrugged. "I don't mind."

"Okay then. I'll go with them," the agent added to the two police officers who were just about to follow. "I need to ask him some questions and they're not going to let everyone down to X-ray. Why don't you guys grab a quick break?" The officers nodded their agreement and strolled down the hall towards the vending machine.

"So, how are you feeling?" Agent Cole asked Joe as they set off in the opposite direction.

"Sore," Joe admitted. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I'd like to ask you some questions about this case your Dad is working on and how it connects to what happened down at the docks," Agent Cole replied as they stopped at the elevator. The orderly pressed the button and the doors sprung open.

Joe frowned. "That's confidential. Maybe we should wait until I'm back in my room?" Belatedly he remembered that his room may be bugged.

"No, I don't think so," the agent replied, following Joe and the orderly into the elevator.

"Why not?"

It was the orderly who answered as the doors slid closed. "Because we won't be going back to your room." He smiled at Joe and pressed the button for basement level…which opened into an underground parking lot.

A cold feeling washed over Joe. Quickly he tried to hit the alarm but the orderly and the FBI agent were too quick for him.

"Now, Joe," said the orderly. "I thought we were going for a little ride?"

_Like Hell!_ Joe thought. "HELP!"

Instantly, the orderly clamped a hand over his mouth. The teenager reached up to pull the man's hand away but the FBI agent leaned over him and pinned his wrists to the arms of the wheelchair.

_Somebody get on the elevator!_ Joe thought frantically, watching the numbers ping down to basement level. The doors slid open and he was pulled from the chair by the FBI agent. The IV bag tumbled to the ground with a loud splat and pain coursed up his arm as the drip was ripped from his hand.

Despite being weak and outnumbered, Joe fought back hard against the two men as they pulled him from the elevator into the darkened car lot. In desperation, he bit down on the orderly's hand. Swearing loudly, the man dropped his hand.

"HELP!" the boy yelled, before the orderly's hand clamped down on his mouth once more.

"Where are they?" demanded the orderly, clutching Joe's upper arm tightly. "I thought you said they'd be here?"

Agent Cole stood close to the Hardy boy, both wrists still pinioned in his strong hands. "They were supposed to−there!" The agent jerked his chin his chin to the right.

Joe heard a screech of tires and tried to turn his head from where it was pinned against the orderly's chest. A black van was speeding towards them. He struggled harder as the van stopped in front of them and the side door slid open.

"Get in!" a harsh voice called.

_Where the hell is everyone?_ thought Joe, furiously trying to yank his wrists free and kick the FBI agent. When that didn't work, he slumped, trying to become dead weight.

A third man hopped from the van and jogged to them, sweeping Joe's legs upwards. They carried the struggling boy to the van and he was heaved in, landing hard on his back. Agony surged through him and he gave a loud cry of pain as the door slammed shut and the van took off.

Joe could feel himself been yanked into a sitting position and a gag was shoved into his mouth. His hands were yanked behind him and his wrists were bound tightly.

"Keep him out of sight!" a harsh voice ordered.

Rough hands shoved him to the floor. He felt something tear in his stomach and gritted his teeth. _Take it easy you goon!_

"Careful!" another voice ordered. "He's not in great shape and we need him alive until we get to Tinton."

_Tinton, where's that? What's going on? _Joe's mind was whirling. He didn't bother trying to guess who these men were, instinct told him they were part of the terrorist group. Joe's bigger concern was why they had grabbed him from the hospital and what they planned to do with him.

"How far is this place?" one of the men spoke up.

"Far," came the response. "And they have a pretty big head start on us."

"They're not going to run," the harsh voice broke in. "They don't know we're following them."

"How do we know the others are there?" the first voice demanded.

"Because there's nowhere else for them to go."

"You'd better be right about this, Isaiah," snorted an accented voice.

"Does it matter? Either way, we get the Harris kid back."

"And we have a pretty handy bargaining tool to get the rest," the harsh voice cut in and Joe felt a boot prod him.

_Bargaining tool! What the heck is going on?_ Joe wondered. But the men had fallen silent and he was left with nothing to distract him from the growing pain in his stomach.

**xxx**

Frank broke out in a cold sweat at the sight of his brother between two men. Still in his robe and hospital gown, Joe was barely standing and only the firm grasp of the men on either side of him was keeping him upright. The man on Joe's right kept a gun trained on the boy while the man on his left held a knife to his throat. Frank's nerves twanged further when he realised that the man with the knife was Vogel.

"Still think you don't know where the Harris family are?" called Beschastnykh.

Frank glanced at his father. Fenton Hardy was ashen-faced and the gun in his hands shook slightly. "Beschastnykh," he said hoarsely. "Don't hurt him."

Vogel barked out a harsh laugh. "Hurt him? Hardy, this knife has already seen the kid's insides! Want it to become acquainted with his jugular as well?"

"Dad," Frank whispered, panicked.

Fenton ignored him. A beat of sweat ran down the side of his face. "Beschastnykh, why is this so important to you? An anthrax attack won't provide the solution to whatever it is you're trying to achieve."

"Trying to appeal to my values, Hardy? Don't bother. You know nothing about me or my beliefs."

"I know you think the government is corrupt and needs to be replaced, preferably with people of the correct ethnic origin," Fenton answered, a tight edge to his voice. "I know you think this country is too liberal and that freedom for all citizens is not a right−"

"I _want_ freedom for this country…freedom from a corrupt government that lies and cheats!"

"Freedom, but on your terms! You don't believe in equality for all because you don't think all human life has equal value; you think some are worth more than others."

"Some are," Beschastnykh retorted coldly. "I'm only trying to protect this country and its rightful citizens from a government that cares nothing for its best interests."

"Oh, and The Order has this country's best interests at heart?"

"Everything we do we do for this country!" Beschastnykh shot back. "We make hard decisions that our government are too scared and too weak to make, but which are necessary to guarantee our country's survival. We need to be strong and united against the scum who would destroy us and an immoral, weak government who would let them! Bleeding heart liberals like yourself need to understand that instead of branding us terrorists."

Fenton Hardy was looking sickened. "The only thing I understand is that you're willing to murder thousands of innocent people for your beliefs. By definition, that makes you a terrorist."

"How dare you judge us, you sanctimonious bastard!" Beschastnykh snarled, while Vogel yanked Joe closer and jabbed the knife further into his throat, eliciting a gasp from the boy.

"Okay! OKAY!" said Fenton hurriedly in alarm. "You're trying to make a difference in the world, I get it. But, Beschastnykh, can't you see that you will never get anyone to understand your cause if you kill thousands of people."

"You'd be surprised what people will understand if given the right incentive," Beschastnykh replied cryptically.

Frank shook his head in disbelief at the rantings of this radical. He found it hard to believe that even one person could think this way, much less an entire organization. If this was how all terrorists thought, then it explained how they could so easily kill thousands of people; they were completely insane.

And they had his brother.

Frank glanced at his father. Fenton Hardy's face was frozen in a slew of emotion, his hands shaking as he contemplated the situation. "Beschastnykh," he said finally. "There has to be another way to achieve what you want."

"Right now, the only thing I want is the Harris family. You know where they are, Hardy, so either you tell me or watch your kid die."

"Beschastnykh−"

"No! There will be no more talking and no negotiation!" He placed the barrel of his gun directly to Joe's forehead. "You have ten seconds. Ten…nine−"

"DON'T FIRE!" Fenton roared and Frank jerked. "Don't fire!" He stepped out from behind the statue and put his hands up. "I'm coming down. Don't hurt him."

"Put your gun down," Beschastnykh ordered.

Fenton complied, placing the gun on the floor. Without looking at Frank, he whispered, "Stay here!"

Frank's heart was pounding and his hands were trembling. "Dad…"

The detective straightened up with his hands in the air and descended the stone steps. A minute later, Frank glimpsed his father reappear through the tapestry, his hands still in the air.

"I'll show you where the Harris family are," Fenton addressed Beschastnykh. "But first, you have to let Joe go."

"No deal. You give us the Harris family first."

"I give you the Harris family and there's nothing stop you killing me or Joe," the detective argued.

"You don't have any other choice."

From his vantage point, Frank could see his father stop beside the altar. Mother Mary was standing there, her tall form frozen in place.

"No, I don't," Fenton acknowledged. "But look at him. Joe's not a threat; you don't need two guys covering him. At least meet me halfway so I know I can trust you."

"Fair enough." Beschastnykh nodded to the man with the gun who stepped away from the teenager while Vogel jerked the boy towards him, one hand clinging tightly to Joe's arm.

"Don't try anything stupid, Hardy," Vogel warned, the knife practically digging into Joe's throat as it forced his head back.

"What can I try? You hold all the cards."

"And don't you forget it! Where are the Harris family?"

"In the convent. We have to go back into the main building."

"Lead the way," Beschastnykh ordered.

Fenton didn't move. "Leave Joe here and I'll show you."

"The kid comes with us!" snapped Beschastnykh.

"Leave someone with him. We have to climb several flights of stairs and Joe can barely stand! At least let him sit down."

"Do we look like nursemaids to you?" Beschastnykh demanded, but he did nod at Vogel who immediately pushed Joe into one of the pews and shoved him into a seat, before sitting down beside him. The knife immediately resumed its position at Joe's throat.

_Dad, what are you doing?_ thought Frank fearfully. He hoped his father had a plan but Frank couldn't see how he planned on getting them all out of there, alive and unhurt.

The thought had barely entered his head when suddenly, something crashed through the windows to the left and Fenton Hardy screamed, "JOE, GET DOWN!"

The church doors banged open and gunshots echoed through the church. Frank caught a glimpse of his father grabbing Mother Mary and diving behind the altar, then ducked as a bullet whistled overhead.

"What the hell!" yelled the Hardy boy as voices shouted. Gunshots filled the church and Frank didn't dare lift his head. "DAD! JOE!" he shouted, but could barely hear his own voice over the hail of gunfire. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped, leaving only a deathly silence.

**xxx**

Whilst trying to reason with Beschastnykh, Fenton Hardy had never once taken his eyes from his youngest son's face. At first, Joe had thought it was concern, but then he had begun to notice the almost imperceptible twitch of his father's eyes to the left. All their eyes on Fenton and Beschastnykh, none of the terrorists noticed Joe glance towards the church windows and freeze. _There's someone out there!_ he realized, catching a brief glimpse of a shadow near the church roof. He looked back at his father and winked surreptitiously.

When the detective finally appeared through the tapestry and talked Beschastnykh into letting Joe sit down, the teenager prepared himself.

He was ready before his father even screamed at him to get down. His sharp eyes had seen the shadows come crashing through the windows a split second before they did so, and he instantly cracked one elbow into Vogel's jaw as hard as he could, simultaneously chopping his fist upwards into the man's hand, sending the knife clattering to the floor.

As gunfire erupted overhead, he dropped to the floor of the pew and tried to crawl away. He didn't get far. Strong hands seized him and dragged him up and around, using his body as a shield whilst retreating backwards. Before Joe knew it, they had pitched backwards into a small, darkened space.

_The confessional!_

Jammed into the small box with a large man, Joe tried to wrestle free but Vogel leveraged a savage blow to his abdomen and the teenager slid to the floor gasping. Sliding the door open a crack, the man fired wildly into the church, then closed the door again. Through the violent haze of pain, Joe became aware that the gunfire had stopped.

"Vogel!" a loud voice yelled. "Its over! Let the boy go."

"Not until I get out of here!" Vogel retaliated. "Let me go or I swear I'll kill him!"

In the dark, Joe felt the man grab him by the front of the robe and haul him to his feet. The cold barrel of a gun landed at his temple and he was shoved towards the door. The door opened just enough to reveal Joe to the church. It was also enough for the boy to glimpse some bodies bleeding in the aisle and several men in dark jackets with their guns pointing towards the confessional. He swallowed. _This so does not look good._

"I want everybody out of this church now!" Vogel shouted. "Or I'll put a bullet in his skull!"

Joe was once more yanked into the dark of the confessional and strong hands shoved him against the side of the booth. He felt anger flare alongside the pain.

"You've got thirty seconds!" Vogel yelled. Joe felt him grab his arm and put the gun to his temple.

_There's no way they're letting this guy walk out of here!_ _The only way this is going to end is with gunfire._ Joe knew the second that happened, he was dead. There was only one thing he could do. Summoning his last ounce of strength, he pitched his shoulder into Vogel's chest.

Not expecting anything from the injured youth, Vogel was caught unawares and fell backwards into the opposite wall of the booth. Quick as a flash, Joe seized the barrel of the gun ignoring the pain that lanced through his hands from the heated metal and pointed it upwards. A loud bang erupted as the gun went off and tore a hole in the roof. As Vogel's hand grabbed his throat, Joe swung himself backwards into the confessional door, destabilizing them both. Together, they toppled out of the booth and landed hard on the floor; Vogel on top of the Hardy boy.

The pain that sliced through him was excruciating and Joe gave a loud yell, but maintained his grip on the gun barrel. Rage flared in Vogel's eyes and he tried to smash the gun into Joe's face but the boy held tightly to the gun barrel, keeping it pointing upwards.

"H-help!" he gasped desperately, feeling himself weakening fast.

A shadow fell over them. "Freeze!" As a gun appeared in Joe's line of sight, Vogel stopped struggling. "Hands in the air!" the voice ordered.

Vogel's face was thunderous as he complied. A man in a navy jacket with FBI on the back materialized beside them and quickly cuffed Vogel. With the aid of another agent, they pulled Vogel to his feet from where he was straddling Joe's legs. The teenager was embarrassed to see that his hospital gown was strewn somewhat haphazardly, aided somewhat by his feet still propped in the confessional, and showing more of his bare legs than he would like.

Another agent knelt beside Joe. "I'll take that, Son," he said kindly, his hand outstretched. Joe realized he was still clinging to the barrel of Vogel's gun. Shakily, he passed it to the agent.

"Joe!" a voice shouted. "JOE!" His father's frantic face appeared above his.

"Dad," said Joe feebly. "You're upside down."

His father moved so that he was kneeling beside Joe. His face was white. "Take it easy, Joe."

Joe squinted at his father. Something was different. "When did you go grey?"

"It's a long story, Buddy. Just lie still."

"Okay." Joe felt like knives were tearing out his insides and clutched at his stomach. His hospital gown felt wet. _Um, that's not right._ He tried to raise his hand to examine it but his father quickly stopped him, taking the boy's hand and gently lowering it back to the ground.

"Don't worry," he said in a soothing voice. He ran his free hand through Joe's hair. "Just relax."

"Right, because lying here with my legs on show to half the FBI is just so conductive to relaxing!" Joe replied sarcastically. _Oh god, why does it hurt so much?_

His father chuckled weakly. "That's my boy!"

His father was starting to sound very far away, never a good sign. He was cold too. _Can't they see this floor is freezing?_ Joe griped to himself.

Voices were saying something in the distance. Fenton looked up and addressed someone but Joe missed what he said; the ground was starting to rock beneath him and he felt like he was going to pitch right off the floor.

"Dad?" he said in a small voice. "I don't feel so good."

His father looked back down at him. "Just hang tight, Joe, an ambulance is on the way."

"Ngh!" Joe gasped suddenly, his hand clenching tightly to his father's as a spasm of pain overtook him and then he was falling…down, down, down into black.

_**A/N:** Thanks guys for all the lovely comments. We're drawing to a close in the story (only two chapters left), but the final chapter isn't finished yet so updates may take a while. Enjoy!_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

The silence was deafening. Heart thumping and hands shaking, Frank crawled the small distance from where he was crouched to the stone steps. Reaching them, he peered over the balcony railing. The church was filled with SWAT agents and men in navy FBI jackets, but Frank could see no sign of his father or brother.

He head felt light as he started down the stairs, giving him the unsettling sensation of pitching forwards. Blindly, he reached for the wall to keep him anchored, as he slowly put one foot in front of the other. From somewhere far away, he could hear voices yelling.

His legs felt like jelly as he reached the bottom of the steps and groped for the door. The tapestry billowed over his face as he emerged. He shoved it away and was promptly greeted by the business end of a rifle; the teenager looked up into the masked face of a SWAT agent.

"STOP!" a voice shouted. A white-faced Fenton Hardy materialised from behind the agent. "That's my son!" He seized the teenager's shoulders. "Frank, are you okay?"

A loud bang from the confessional drew their attention just in time to witness Joe and Vogel crash through the doors. Immediately, the FBI agents moved in. Without any thought to his own safety, Frank hurtled after them.

His father, however, had other ideas and seized the teenager mid-lunge. "Frank, stay here," he ordered, before signalling the SWAT agent and pointing at Frank. The detective then took off in a run down the aisle, leaving his eldest son fuming.

Ignoring the large SWAT agent, Frank kept his gaze riveted on the agents around the confessional. The second he saw two FBI agents leading a cuffed Vogel away, he dashed across the altar and nearly howled with fury when the SWAT agent detained him. "Let me through!" he growled, shrugging off the man's hand. "That's my brother…let me through, dammit!"

"Let him through," a nearby Agent ordered.

Frank didn't recognise Agent Lynch. He shouted a cursory "thanks" and darted past the SWAT man and three FBI agents. He dashed down the side aisle to where his father was kneeling on the floor beside his brother, calling Joe's name.

Frank dropped to his knees beside his brother and felt his heart freeze in his chest. Joe's eyes were closed and the front of his hospital gown was saturated with blood. "Dad," Frank croaked, as fear washed over him.

"He's alive," said Fenton in a shaking voice. "I think his stitches have opened up."

"Fenton!" a voice shouted and Sam Radley appeared beside him. "Are you okay?"

"We need an ambulance…" Fenton answered weakly.

"A MedEvac just landed," Sam told him reassuringly.

"MedEvac?" repeated Frank. It never occurred to him to ask how Sam had come to be there. The boy was starting to feel strangely disconnected from reality.

Sam turned his attention to him. "Frank, you okay, Buddy? You don't look so good."

"Fine. But Joe…"

"Don't worry, the paramedics are here now…look." He drew Frank's attention to the two men wheeling a gurney towards them. As the men joined them, Fenton gently guided Frank to his feet and out of the way of the paramedics. The teenager was barely aware of it; he was shaking so hard he was like a machine on overload and Sam was quick to notice that he looked like he was about to fall apart. "Fenton, I think he's going into shock."

Fenton glanced down at his son's frightened face and quickly put an arm around the trembling form. "Frank?" The teenager tore his gaze away from his brother to meet his father's concerned expression. "Are you okay, Son?"

Numb, Frank shook his head. He didn't trust himself to speak. The detective's mouth tightened as he studied the dazed expression on Frank's face. "He'll be okay, Frank," he tried to reassure his son before turning to his partner. "Is there room for us?"

Sam bit his lip and shook his head. "Sorry, Fenton."

Just then, a breathless Con Riley joined them. "Fenton! Are you−ah jeez!" The officer's face fell as he caught sight of Joe.

The paramedics had eased the unconscious teenager onto a gurney. While they readied him for transport, Sam turned to Fenton. "Maybe we should get ready to follow them to New York?" He shot a meaningful look at Frank's trembling form.

Fenton's arm tightened on his son's shoulder. "Okay. Come on, Frank."

"What? No! I'm going with Joe."

"Son, there isn't room for us."

"Why not?" Frank's voice was small, frightened.

"Because they're airlifting him," Fenton explained gently. "We're going to follow, okay?" Frank nodded reluctantly and allowed his father to guide him towards the exit of the church, followed by Sam and Con.

They were greeted at the door by Agent Lynch. "It's good to see you in one piece, Mr Hardy." Fenton gave a jerky nod and attempted to steer Frank around him but the CIA operative blocked their exit. "I'm sorry, Fenton, I can't allow you to leave."

Fenton was incredulous. "Excuse me?"

"We need to debrief you. I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me."

"The hell I will! I'm going with my sons!"

"I understand that this has been a traumatic evening for you and your boys, but Joe is in good hands with the doctors at Mount Sinai. Frank can follow with Con and Sam. You can join them as soon as we're done."

"One of my sons is seriously injured and the other is in shock. You must be insane if you think I'm coming with you!"

"I'm afraid you don't have any choice in the matter." Agent Lynch's expression was neutral but his tone was apologetic. "The Order is still operational and have access to a lethal substance. They may not be able to persuade Jonah Harris to weaponize it for them now, but they still possess enough anthrax to posit a very real threat."

"I don't know where the attack is going to take place!" Fenton snapped tightly. "Besides, you have Vogel."

"He may not talk. The Order's plans may have been compromised but we believe the attack will still go ahead in the next few days. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you have no choice in this matter."

Fenton's face was red and his eyes were popping with fury as he stared the agent down. When he spoke, the effort of controlling his anger distorted his voice. "You can't make me."

"I'm afraid I can. Fenton, I don't want to but if I have to, I will place you in federal custody."

"You can't be serious!" Sam exclaimed, shooting the agent an angry look. "After all he's done?"

"I don't like these tactics anymore than you do, but we're working against a ticking time bomb," the agent reminded him. "Please, Fenton, I know we're asking a lot, but our man undercover has discovered that the attack will take place in the next few days, probably somewhere on the East Coast."

"You have someone undercover as well?" asked Fenton sharply.

"In a manner of speaking. The undercover FBI operative is our guy; he's a double agent. We recruited him right out of Quantico. We pushed for him to take the undercover operation because we've suspected for quite some time that The Order had operatives inside several government agencies. We've had them under surveillance for far longer than the FBI."

"No wonder terrorists can infiltrate our government agencies so easily when they don't even trust each other," muttered Sam.

Agent Lynch ignored him. "Mr Hardy, we'll be flying to the New York field office so you may even reach Mount Sinai before Frank and the others. I promise, we will do this as quickly as possible."

Fenton glowered at the agent, unable to speak. He looked like he was ready to rip Agent Lynch limb from limb.

"Come on, Frank," said Sam quietly, stepping up beside the teenager. "They're moving Joe now so we should follow them." Frank glanced back; the paramedics were indeed wheeling the gurney toward them. He swallowed hard and his heart flipped painfully in his chest.

Fenton gave his son's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be there soon, Frank, I promise."

The paramedics wheeled Joe past them. Frank's eyes followed his brother's limp form until the gurney disappeared through the church doors. Taking several deep breaths, he managed to get a grip on his burgeoning panic. "I'll be okay, Dad," he managed to get out.

"That's my boy." Fenton's voice was choked as he gave his son a tight hug.

Then Sam steered him out through the church doors. Frank threw a glance over his shoulder before they swung closed. His last glimpse was of his father's snarling face rounding on Agent Lynch.

**xxx**

The journey to New York seemed to last forever. Frank was too anxious to make conversation other than to ask Sam and Con how they had come to be in the Church.

"Chief Collig gave us your message," Sam told him. "As soon as we discovered who Mother Mary was, we left for Tinton Falls. When we heard Joe was missing from the hospital, Agent Lynch guessed what The Order was planning and deployed a SWAT team."

Frank nodded before lapsing back into agitated silence, idly drumming his fingers and staring out the window. The sensation of having an overlarge head and the eerie feeling of disassociation began to dissolve as the journey wore on, only to be replaced with a sick, tired feeling. The teenager felt drained.

It was several hours before they finally reached Mount Sinai; Con dropped them at the front while he went to park the car. A frantic Frank dashed through the front doors, almost knocking an elderly couple in his haste. "Sorry," he mumbled as he hurried to the front desk, Sam hot on his heels.

"Excuse me," said the teenager to the woman behind the counter. "Can you tell me where Joe Hardy is? He arrived by MedEvac a few hours ago."

"He's in surgery," the woman told them. "I don't know anything else, I'm sorry."

Frank was not to be deterred. "Isn't there someway you can find out−"

"Frank!" a voice called, interrupting him. They turned to see Fenton Hardy jogging towards them from the direction of the elevators.

Frank was shocked to see his father. Despite Agent Lynch's assertions that they would be quick, he had fully expected not to see his father for several hours yet.

Sam seemed equally surprised. "Fenton, when did you get here?"

"About an hour ago," the detective answered as he joined them. "I had very little to tell them so the debriefing didn't take long."

"Dad, do you know anything about Joe?" Frank asked urgently.

Fenton looked grim. "I talked to the admitting ER doctor. Joe's in surgery, he tore all his stitches and there was some haemorrhaging. The doc said the surgery shouldn't take much longer, he'll know more then." Frank bit his lip and lapsed into perturbed silence.

Sam had another concern. "Fenton, what happened with Agent Lynch? Did you figure out where the attack will be?"

Fenton's face was haggard as he massaged his fingers in a circular motion across his temple. "No. The Order covered their tracks well."

"What about Beschastnykh and the others from the church?"

"Beschastnykh and Isaiah were killed in the shoot out and none of the survivors know anything about the attack. Vogel was just a mercenary; knew nothing and didn't care. The only thing he was able to tell us is that he thinks the target is a major East Coast city."

Sam sucked in a breath through his teeth. "What about the other two?"

"Lower level grunts who knew nothing about The Order's plans. The only reason they were at the church was because they kidnapped Joe from the hospital." Fenton gave an angry growl. "One of them was working there as an orderly; he got a job there after the boys were admitted. Apparently the scumbag ran over a hospital employee to ensure that a position would be available. His job was to keep an eye on the boys and kill them if Beschastnykh decided they were no longer useful."

"I bet he bugged our rooms too!" Frank interjected.

Fenton nodded. "The other man was a dirty FBI agent; worthless scum! He used his badge to help the orderly take Joe from the hospital. They met up with the others and followed you to Tinton Falls."

"But how did they _know_?" Frank demanded. "How did they know Riley was with me and where we were heading? They didn't follow us from Bayport."

"According to Vogel, Sam's car was bugged."

"What!" Sam exploded. "You've got to be kidding me! Bad enough that they bugged my home, but they bugged my car as well?"

Fenton nodded looking serious. "They left nothing to chance after Riley slipped through their fingers. When they heard that he and Frank were on their way out of Bayport, they planned to waylay them at the outskirts until they heard them talking about Mother Mary. Once they realized that Catherine Harris could be at the church as well, they decided to meet Frank there…I don't think they expected to see me. Their plan was to force Frank to trade the Harris family for Joe." The detective fell silent. He had been badly shaken by the appearance of his youngest son in the church.

"Fenton, he'll be fine," said Sam, guessing his partner's thoughts.

"He shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. I should never have taken this case." Fenton shook his head regretfully.

"For Chrissakes, Dad, we've had this conversation already!" Frank's frayed nerves caused him to be harsher with his father's guilt than he intended and he softened his tone. "You had to take this case and you did a great job, okay?"

"Besides," Sam added, "your plan to get Joe out of the line of fire so SWAT could storm the church probably saved his life."

Frank was confused. "Wait a minute! You _knew_ about the SWAT agents?"

"Not quite," his father clarified. "I saw the brief outline of one at a window when they were preparing to come in. I know protocol and I knew they'd come in with guns blazing if they thought there was a threat. Once I knew they were out there, my only thought was getting Joe out of the line of fire."

"When you yelled 'don't fire,'" said Frank, thinking back, "was that aimed at SWAT as well as Beschastnykh?"

Fenton nodded. "It was a risky move. I guessed SWAT might be listening but I didn't know if they'd understand my signal or think we were in danger and rush into action."

"We were listening in using parabolic arc mics," Sam informed them. "When I heard you yell, I guessed you had something up your sleeve so I managed to convince Agent Lynch to wait a few minutes before sending the SWAT team in."

Frank was surprised. "You mean Agent Lynch didn't want us to get hurt? I thought some of those government agents had no problem with civilian casualties if it meant they achieved their aims?"

Sam smiled slightly. "You've been watching too much TV, Frank. Most agents try and keep civilians safe at all cost. And as much as I think Agent Lynch is a tool, he is very good at his job. He was the one who worked out their plans to use Joe as a bargaining tool and he organised the MedEvac because he guessed Joe would need it."

"You're kidding!" Fenton burst out. "I owe that butt-kiss Joe's life?"

"Looks like it. Sorry, Fenton."

The detective's mouth twisted in an expression of distaste. Even though he understood how urgent the CIA debriefing was, and despite the fact that flying by helicopter to New York meant that he had actually arrived at the hospital before Frank and the others, Fenton had been furious with the CIA agent for forcing him to abandon his sons at such a crucial juncture. He had expressed his displeasure with a strong uppercut to Agent Lynch's jaw. The agent was now sporting a rather fetching bruise which, to his credit, he did not reprimand Fenton for. "I'm still not apologising," Fenton muttered to himself, garnering bemused expressions from his son and partner.

A worrying thought occurred to Frank. "Dad, if the CIA and the FBI don't know where the attack is going to take place, what are they going to do?"

"They're not giving up. They still have one eyewitness left that they want to talk to."

"An eyewitness? Who?"

"Joe."

"Joe?"

Fenton nodded. "Joe spent several hours with the terrorists travelling from Bayport to Tinton Falls, and Agent Lynch is hoping he may have heard something. They're waiting to question him when he wakes up."

Frank opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a loud shriek. "Fenton! Fenton!"

Laura Hardy dashed across the hospital lobby followed closely by Gertrude, and flung her arms around her husband. "Laura," he murmured into her hair, his arms going around her. She clung to him for a minute before pulling away and delivering a resounding slap to his cheek.

"_That's_ for not contacting us to let us know you were okay! Do you know how worried we were?" She seized him in a tight hug once more. "Don't _ever _do that to me again!"

Looking chastised and more than a little bewildered, Fenton agreed meekly.

Laura released him and turned to her eldest son. "And as for you," she addressed him, jabbing a finger in his chest, "you're grounded, young man! What on earth possessed you to leave the station? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how worried I was? You could have been killed, Frank!"

"Sorry, Mom," Frank mumbled.

"Sorry? That's all you can say? I swear, I could just strangle you both!" she expostulated fiercely, before grabbing her son in a tight hug. "Where's Joe?"

"In surgery," her husband responded.

"Surgery?" Her voice cracked like a whip. "Why?"

Fenton looked uncomfortable. "He tore all his stitches and there was some haemorrhaging. The doctor said he should be out soon."

"Surgery again! Fenton, you and I need to have a serious talk about the cases you take on. And you!" She rounded on her eldest son. "We're going to have a very stern heart-to-heart about whether or not you and your brother will be doing any more investigating!"

Frank looked stricken at his mother's words and his aunt, who had been uncharacteristically silent, intervened. "Why don't we leave this conversation until later? We're all tired and upset, and perhaps this may not be the best time to have any major discussions. However," she fixed her brother with a deadly glare, "I certainly agree that you should be more careful about the work you choose. Getting mixed up with terrorists…whatever next, Fenton!"

The detective chuckled and embraced his sister. "Now, Gert−"

"Don't you 'now, Gert' me, Fenton Hardy! Just because I'm not giving you a piece of my mind doesn't mean there isn't a very big chunk of it that I want to share!"

"Okay, Gertrude, okay," said Fenton hurriedly, putting up his hands in a pacifying gesture.

The older woman turned to her nephew and hugged him. "Frank, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Auntie."

"I hope you know how lucky you are, young man, you could have been killed! Not to mention the fact that you scared your mother and me half to death!"

"Yes, Aunt Gertrude," Frank answered meekly. He and his father exchanged silent looks. The Hardy women could create a storm of biblical proportions when they were angry, and this was barely a summer breeze. Frank had a feeling that he and his father hadn't heard the last of this.

**xxx**

_What hurts_? was the first conscious thought that registered in Joe's brain. _Urgh, everything!_ was the second. He would have liked to slip back into painless oblivion, but the red hot pokers digging into his stomach seemed to have other ideas. Reluctantly, the boy opened his eyes and blinked several times as a white ceiling came into view. He tried to raise his head to look around, but let it plop back onto the pillow with a grunt as pain seared through him.

"Joe!" a voice exclaimed and his brother's face appeared above him. "You're awake! How do you feel? Are you in pain? Should I get the doctor?"

Joe closed his eyes against Frank's anxious onslaught. "Too much," he whispered.

"Sorry. How do you feel?"

"Been better." Joe squinted up at his brother. "Is this…Bayport?"

"New York."

Joe swallowed, trying to work some saliva into his parched mouth. The hot pokers were now ploughing a blaze of agony across his abdomen. Clenching his teeth, the boy sucked in a breath. _Crap, that HURTS! Isn't it supposed to hurt less in the hospital?_

Frank looked anxious. "Joe, are you okay?"

"Freakin' hurts. Why…New York?"

Frank leaned over and pushed the call button. "Nearest trauma centre from Tinton Falls."

"Trauma centre…Dad okay?"

"For you, Dummy!" Frank rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You tore all your stitches and started haemorrhaging in the church. They had to fly you here."

"Oh, right." Joe brought a hand up to his face to feel the oxygen tube tucked over his ears and under his nose. "How long?"

"How long what?"

_Dear God, Frank, it hurts to speak! Please don't make me spell everything out!_ "How long'm I here?"

"You were flown in this morning."

Just then, a doctor entered the room, followed closely by their parents and some guy in a suit whom Joe didn't recognise. His mother rushed to his side at once and clasped his hand. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Spectacular," he mumbled, giving her a lopsided smile that came out as more of a pained grimace. He couldn't understand why it hurt so badly; it hadn't hurt this much back in Bayport. He tightened his grip on his mother's hand as a particularly virulent jab of pain shuddered through him.

"Oh, honey." His mother's lip trembled and she brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead.

The doctor cleared his throat and addressed the teenager. "Joe, I know you're probably in a bit of pain at the moment; I'm afraid we've had to taper back your medication to bring you around."

_That would explain it._ "Why?"

The doctor gave an angry glance at the man in the suit. "This gentleman here urgently needs to speak with you. He's assured me it won't take long and the second he's finished, I'll give you something so you can rest."

Joe was bewildered. "Er, okay."

The doctor turned to the man in the suit. "You have ten minutes and that's it! I'll be back to give the boy something then."

The man inclined his head. "Thank you, Doctor that should be quite sufficient." The doctor gave him a look of deepest disgust before he swept from the room.

Fenton stepped nearer to his youngest son. There was a pinched look around his eyes and his face was drawn. "Joe, I'm so sorry about this," he said softly. "We didn't want to but…" he shot an angry glare at the man in the suit and Joe glanced at the stranger.

The room was thick with hostility; all of it aimed at this man. There was a darkening bruise on the man's jaw and Joe wondered briefly if it was courtesy of Frank. His brother was glaring at the man with an expression of pure venom, his lips unconsciously curling in a snarl. Joe turned a questioning glance to his father.

Fenton gave him a wan smile. "This is Agent Lynch from the CIA. He needs to ask you a few questions. He's promised to be quick, okay?"

The blond boy gave a small nod and the Agent stepped up beside his bed. "Joe, I'm sorry to have to do this when you're not feeling well," the agent began gently. "I'll try to be brief and stick to questions with yes no answers. Just shake your head to answer, okay?"

Joe nodded. This guy seemed okay, why was Frank giving him the stink-eye?

The man became more brisk. "Joe, after you were abducted from the hospital, did the men mention anything about the terrorist attack?" The teenager shook his head. "Okay, did they talk about anything that might give us some indication about where this attack might take place?"

"Sorry, no."

Agent Lynch sighed. "What did they talk about?"

"I don't really remember," Joe answered tiredly, trying to think of something other than the pain gnawing on his abdomen.

"Try and think, Joe, even the smallest detail could be important."

Joe was quiet for a few minutes as he wracked his brain. "They didn't really talk much, and about the only thing they did say that really stood out was something about a dog…but it made no sense."

"In what way?"

"Well…it was something to do with a project a dog was involved in."

Agent Lynch's eyes narrowed. "Joe, are you sure about this? You were injured so maybe you misheard?"

"I didn't mishear!" Joe insisted. "One of them was talking about a problem he'd been having with restoring an old car, and another one laughed and said at least the terrier's big project wouldn't be giving him anymore problems since it was about to go belly-up. Then that Biccie guy told them to shut up and they didn't say anything else."

Agent Lynch's back was ramrod straight. "Joe, are you sure he described the dog as a terrier?"

"Positive." Joe looked embarrassed. "I remember because I pictured a terrier wearing glasses and reading a file."

Agent Lynch was pulling out his cell phone and moving towards the door before any of them could react. "Banks!" he barked into the phone. "Assemble the team, we have them!" Without even so much as a backwards glance at the Hardys, he was gone, leaving them in stunned silence.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Is he kidding?" demanded Frank in the wake of Agent Lynch's sudden exit. "How in the heck did that tell him anything?"

"I have no idea," Fenton replied, bewildered. Father and son stared at one another with furrowed brows.

"So, does that mean he's done with me?" asked Joe tiredly.

Fenton turned his gaze to his youngest son. "Looks like it. Want me to get the doctor?"

"That'd be good, thanks." Joe's voice was strained and his face was etched with pain. As Fenton disappeared from the room, he shifted his gaze to Frank. "Okay, bro, time to fill me in; what happened in the church? How did you end up there?"

"It's a long story, you sure you're up for it?" Frank eyed his brother with concern.

"Dude, I _need_ the distraction."

"Okay then." Frank settled into the chair on the other side of Joe's bed and gave him the abridged version of what had happened from their car chase after leaving the Hardy home to meeting Mother Mary, before their father reappeared in the room with the tall doctor striding briskly in his wake

The man ignored Frank and Laura, going immediately to Joe's bedside. He emptied the contents of a syringe into Joe's line. "That should take effect in a few minutes," he told the boy kindly. "You'll be able to get some rest then." Joe nodded and the doctor turned to the rest of the Hardys. "He should sleep for the next few hours, but if he wakes up or feels any pain, please have one of the nurses page me. I'd like to keep an eye on him."

"We will. Thank you, Doctor," said Laura, fussing over Joe and smoothing down his bedcovers. The doctor gave her a warm smile before departing.

Joe could feel his eyelids growing heavy as the pain began to roll back from his stomach in gentle laps. "You didn't finish tellin' me everything," he slurred drowsily to Frank. "S'Riley okay?"

It was Fenton who answered. "Riley's fine, Bud. You just get some rest and we'll fill you in on the details when you're feeling better."

Joe smiled sleepily at his father before his eyes closed.

**xxx**

Joe opened his eyes to a white ceiling, silence and the wonderful cessation of pain. He could still feel the oxygen tube tucked over his ears and under his nose though, and sighed. _Guess that means I won't be getting out of bed any time soon. _

A small snore to his left drew his attention. He grinned when he caught sight of his brother snoozing in a chair; head tilted back and mouth open slightly. He looked so peaceful that Joe almost felt bad for giving into the urge to wake him.

Almost.

Putting two fingers in his mouth, Joe whistled shrilly. Frank immediately shot upright looking startled, the hair on the right side of his head sticking up haphazardly. "Huh? Whazzup?" he mumbled, blinking sleep from his eyes.

Joe laughed loudly, then regretted it as pain sea-sawed across his abdomen.

"Serves you right," Frank grumbled crossly, watching him grimace. "Couldn't you just have called me like a normal person?"

"Sorry, Frank, the opportunity presented itself and I just couldn't resist."

"Of course you couldn't. Still, at least you're feeling better." He paused. "You _are_ feeling better, right?"

"Much," Joe assured him. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"They went back to the hotel this morning to get some rest. They should be back soon."

"How long have I been out?"

"Almost twenty-four hours."

"Twenty-four hours? Man, no wonder I feel better." He squinted at his brother. Frank looked tired and his face still bore traces of bruising. "Have you had any rest?"

"I grabbed a few hours after the doctor knocked you out yesterday. Mom and Dad left when I got back. One of us wanted to be here when you woke up."

Joe scowled. "I'm not a kid, Frank! I don't need someone sitting ringside while I sleep!"

Frank grinned at his brother's irritation. Joe was famously independent and hated being fussed over. "Relax, bro. We just figured that if someone wasn't here to entertain you, you'd start climbing the walls or something. This is strictly for the sanity of the nursing staff."

"Ha ha," snapped Joe and Frank grinned. "Are you going to tell me what happened with that Agent Lynch guy?"

Frank's grin faded. "We haven't heard from him since he left here yesterday. I don't like it; I wish I knew what was happening."

"Me too. You think they can stop them?"

"The terrorists? I sure hope so."

"Guess we'll just have to wait and find out." Joe absently scratched at his IV. "Care to fill me in on the rest of what happened at the convent?"

"Okay." Frank relaxed back into his chair and finished telling Joe what had happened once he met Mother Mary up until the moment Joe appeared in the church. "You know the rest," Frank concluded, with a slight shrug.

"No I don't. What happened to Riley? Are the rest of his family okay?"

"Riley and his Mom are fine. Agent Lynch sent them to a safe house after everything in the church went down. His sister is in another safe house somewhere upstate with the agent who rescued her. According to Agent Lynch, she was particularly freaked out about the whole thing and this agent is the only person she trusts."

"Hard to blame her. How did this agent manage to rescue her? Is he on the up and up?" Joe was extremely suspicious of the FBI after his abduction from the hospital.

"He's clean. He's the guy who was undercover for almost a year before Dad. He was higher up the ladder − so to speak − and was informed that Catherine Harris had escaped and was possibly on the run with Dad. After that, he knew The Order might move Riley's sister and they might never find her again so he risked his cover and got her out."

"What about Riley's dad?"

Frank looked grim. "Still missing."

"Do you think he's still alive?" asked Joe quietly.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

The brothers fell silent for several minutes, each one thinking about Riley and his missing father. They were both uncomfortably aware that Riley may not get a happy ending; it did not escape either boy's attention that their father may never have returned to them from this case. The thought filled them with cold horror.

"So, Dad had a gun?" Joe asked his brother, trying to block the disturbing image of his father lying dead in an unmarked grave.

Frank shook his head in an effort to remove equally disturbing images. "Yeah. Couldn't believe it, never thought I'd see the day."

Their father, despite his line of work, did not like guns. He rarely carried one, was a strong advocate for gun control and despaired of how easy gun laws made it for criminals to obtain one. He had always told his sons that gun ownership carried with it a level of responsibility for human life that few criminals were willing to adhere to. Frank and Joe knew that their father kept a gun locked in the safe in his office, but only Frank had ever seen it, and even then, only once and only in an extreme situation.

Joe sighed, shifting uncomfortably. He was far too stiff from lying down for so long. More alert now, his impetuous nature kicked in. "Here, where's that bed thing to help me sit up?" he asked, his hands feeling in the covers for the little remote to elevate his bed.

"What? This?" Frank reached over Joe's head and brought forward the remote. He handed it to his brother. "Should you be sitting up?"

"Don't know, don't care," Joe responded, slowly elevating the bed to an upright position. "Ahhhh, that's so much better." Now able to look at Frank directly, he grinned.

Frank sighed. "Fine, but if you upchuck all over yourself, don't blame me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Joe responded cheerfully.

They were interrupted by the door to the room opening. Their parents and aunt entered. "Joe, honey," their mother hurried to him at once. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," he smiled. "Hey, Aunt Gertrude, I didn't know you were here."

"I was looking for a hotel last night when that awful Agent Lynch called," she sniffed and leaned forward to kiss Joe's forehead. "Dreadful man. He's just lucky I was having such trouble finding a room because of some ridiculous fashion thing taking place this week. Honestly, imagine looking to question a young boy who's just been through major surgery, the nerve of him!"

"I'm not a young boy!" Joe protested indignantly. "I'm sixteen!"

"Yes, dear," his aunt patted his hand absently and turned to hug Frank who was stifling a laugh. "Frank, have you had anything to eat?"

"I had a sandwich from the canteen just before Joe woke."

"A sandwich is not enough substance for a growing boy," his aunt lectured him. "You need a proper meal, Frank."

"I'll grab something when I leave here, Auntie," Frank offered in an effort to appease his aunt before she got started on another tangent. He had already been treated to two marathon sermons since she had arrived in New York and wanted to avoid a third at all costs.

"I'll make sure he does, Gertrude," Fenton interjected warningly, seeing her mouth open while his eldest son recoiled nervously. He knew his sister meant well, but Fenton felt that Frank had been through quite enough in the last two days, something that had been overshadowed in the wake of Joe's admission to the hospital.

His sister raised an eyebrow but wisely stayed silent, while Frank shot his father a grateful look. Fenton gave him a small wink.

"Dad, have you heard from Agent Lynch?" Joe asked.

"I got a call an hour ago. They've managed to stop the attack and arrested several key players from The Order."

Joe immediately sat up straighter. "Where was the attack supposed to take place?"

"The opening of a new terminal at JFK," Fenton responded seriously.

Frank was gobsmacked. "The airport? When? How?"

"It was all very well planned out actually," Fenton answered. "They had two order members working as baggage handlers, and their job was to slip the anthrax into the air conditioning during the opening ceremony. They couldn't get Professor Harris to weaponise the anthrax for them without his family to threaten him with, so this was the best way to ensure maximum dispersal of the anthrax when the airport was at its most crowded."

"Is Riley's dad okay?" Joe asked.

Fenton looked grim. "They haven't found him yet and the order members aren't talking, but Agent Lynch believes they murdered him when he refused to help them."

Frank and Joe both felt as though they had been socked in the gut. Even though they knew this had been one of the most deadly cases of their father's career, deep down they had never really expected the death of any of the Harris family. "Poor Riley," said Frank softly while Joe stared at his bed sheets.

"I feel very sorry for the Harris family," said Fenton sadly. "They were completely innocent victims in all of this and they've paid the highest price."

"A price we almost paid too," Laura interjected, with a meaningful glance at her husband. Fenton nodded and cast his gaze to the ground. If either of his sons had died because of this case, he would never have forgiven himself. He and Laura had talked for many hours the night before about how things were going to have to change; both in the cases he took on and how involved the boys were allowed to be. He had a feeling Frank and Joe would be deeply unhappy with the new ground rules.

"Dad," Joe's voice broke into his thoughts. "How did my comments about the dog tell Agent Lynch what the terrorists were planning?"

"It was that crack about the terrier and the big project. Agent Lynch knew they were referring to Senator Williams."

"Barbara Williams, the democrat?" Frank queried.

Fenton nodded. "She's a real political powerhouse at the moment, and hotly tipped to be the democratic candidate for the next presidential election. But the bills she's been getting passed and the projects she's taking on are creating waves in more conservative circles; she's fighting for greater gun control, cracking down on the existence of several right-wing political groups as well as trying to legalise gay marriage in several states to name just a few…basically she promotes everything The Order hates and is fighting against. She's ambitious, determined, well-connected and likely to make big changes. The fact that she's a woman is putting The Order's noses even more out of joint."

"Chauvinistic pigs!" sniffed Aunt Gertrude.

"But what has that got to do with the airport?" Joe wanted to know.

"The new terminal at JFK was one of her biggest projects over the last few years. She was involved in getting the development off the ground, as well as getting several foreign investors involved in the project. The new terminal is intended to be a hub for several of the US's biggest imports as well as enticing further investors from other countries."

"Bet that didn't sit very well with The Order's ethos of not having any non-American in powerful positions in the country," Frank commented.

"Got it in one." Fenton nodded. "The Order has been simmering for while about what _they_ see as good old fashioned American values disappearing and the contamination of American blood with impure foreigners; which is crazy because America is one giant melting pot anyway! The Order blame the government for allowing this to happen and had been planning on making some sort of anti-government statement to show their ire and prove that the American government are incapable of protecting its people because they're too busy protecting other interests. Senator Williams' project was like a red rag to a bull."

"Are these guys for real?" asked Joe, shaking his head in disgust. "How can anyone think like that? It's stupid."

Fenton sighed. "I wish I could answer that one, Son but I can't even get my head around that kind of warped thinking."

Joe frowned. "And I still don't get how Agent Lynch managed to work all that out from the dog comment."

"I think I know," Frank answered. "Senator Williams is known as the Terrier, right, Dad?"

"Right. She's five foot nothing, tough as nails, tenacious and stubborn. Apparently, she's had that nickname since Law School and is widely referred to as such in political circles. Agent Lynch recognised the reference at once and knew that the new terminal was being opened today; he guessed it was the most likely target." Fenton shook his head. "I don't like the man much, but I have never seen someone put a tact-team together so fast, or so successfully; the man is exceptional at his job."

"The man is still a tool," Frank muttered under his breath. Fenton grinned.

"So, what happens now?" Joe asked. "Will the FBI arrest the other Order members?"

"And are they going to attempt another attack?" Frank added.

"I don't know what happens next," Fenton replied seriously. "I'm guessing that the FBI will try and root out the remaining Order members, but they won't have much luck unless they manage to arrest any of the cell leaders. I imagine the Order will attempt to attack the government again in some way, but for now they've been dealt a blow that's forced them to scatter…it'll probably take them a while to regroup. Plus, the anthrax is back in government hands."

"So what do you have to do next?" asked Frank.

"Nothing. I gave the FBI all the information I had, and I'm not getting involved in the rest of the investigation."

"You're not going to finish the case?" Frank was surprised. "Why?"

"Actually boys," said Fenton with a glance at his wife, "I think that's something we need to talk about."

Showing an uncharacteristic display of discretion that surprised her brother, Gertrude got to her feet and announced, "I think I'd like a coffee."

As their aunt left the room, Frank and Joe glanced at one another. The expressions on their parents' faces were extremely grim. "What's going on?" asked Joe, looking from one face to another.

It was their mother who answered. "Your father and I have decided that you boys should be less involved in detective work from now on."

"What do you mean, less involved?" Frank demanded suspiciously.

"It means no more working dangerous cases for one thing," Laura told him. "And the cases that you do work will involve very limited investigating."

"What! But that's not fair!" Frank cried while Joe mouthed soundlessly at his parents, apparently too appalled to speak. "How are we supposed to learn detective work if we're not actually doing any?"

"You can learn other elements of detective work without doing any actual investigating," Fenton told him. "Research, surveillance tactics, how to use tracking equipment–"

"Desk work," Frank interjected bitterly.

"Frank, I was eighteen before I even started training," Fenton reminded him gently.

"Your Dad wasn't a detective!" Frank retorted. "Dad…"

"No arguments, Frank," Laura told him firmly. "You boys could have been killed on this case! You're both still teenagers and not ready for fully fledged detective work, and this case proved that."

"How?" demanded Joe, finding his voice.

"For starters, following those men to the dock at Bayport," Laura snapped. "Entering the warehouse when you knew there were dangerous criminals inside and getting yourselves _hurt_!"

"Your mother is right, boys," Fenton put in quietly. "You showed no self-control or forethought, you just acted without thinking of the consequences and put yourselves in terrible danger."

"But we won't do it again, Dad," Frank said desperately. "We learned a really important lesson and we'll be more careful in future, we promise!"

"Frank, don't you see? Your mother and I need to see for ourselves that you've developed level of self-control that will allow you to use rational thinking even in unpredictable situations. We can't take the chance that the same thing might happen again."

"Dad, that's not fair! You weren't exactly behaving rationally during the Ben Mathis case last year," Frank pointed out.

"You're right, I wasn't. But I still wasn't putting myself in dangerous situations. Boys, we're not stopping you from detective work permanently, we're just making sure that you have better self control that will help you to make smarter decisions before you do field work again."

"And there are a few quid-pro-quo's," Laura added.

"Such as?" Frank demanded.

"Self defence," Fenton answered. "Frank, I know you're doing well at karate but, Joe, you need to take up some form of self-defence."

"I'm not doing karate," the blond boy objected at once. "It's boring!"

"It doesn't have to be karate," Fenton told him. "You can pick any form of self-defence that you like, but you have to do something."

"Fine," Joe muttered.

"Second, you are both going to learn how to handle a gun." Frank and Joe stared open-mouthed at their father. Fenton looked grim. "You both know my feelings on guns, but in this line of work, you need to be familiar with them so you are both going to have training. However," he fixed both of them with a stern eye, "if I think for one second that either of you are not taking it seriously, I will end the training and that will be the end of detective work for you while you are under my roof, understood?" The boys nodded.

"Third, and most important, no investigating behind my back. I'm still going to discuss my cases with you and let you help to a certain extent, but no more investigating until your mother and I feel you're ready. Does that sound fair?"

"Not really," said Joe miserably. "Dad, don't you trust us anymore?"

"Joe, it's not about trust," said Fenton. "You boys were almost killed; can't you see how frightening that was for your mother and I? We just want to make sure you can handle yourselves before you start investigating again."

"But detective work always carries the possibility of danger," Frank argued.

"Yes, but not unnecessary danger," Fenton replied. "What happened at that warehouse should never have happened. I know you boys were worried about me, but you still shouldn't have put yourselves in such danger. Frank, you should _never_ have entered that warehouse and, Joe you should have gone for help rather than running pell-mell into trouble."

"I wasn't going to leave my brother to burn!" Joe cried furiously.

"But instead of helping him, you ended up getting yourself stabbed," Laura pointed out gently.

"Something that could have been avoided if you'd had your phone with you to call for help," Fenton added. "I gave you those phones for a reason, Joe, and you need to start remembering to take yours with you so that you can be contactable and can contact people if you need help, understood?" Joe nodded. "Now, do you boys have any questions for us?"

"How long are these restrictions going to last?" Frank asked at once.

"Until we think you boys are ready to respond more appropriately in dangerous situations," Laura replied firmly.

"Which means it could be months before you let us near a case again," said Frank miserably while Joe slouched dejectedly into his pillows.

Fenton sighed. "Boys, you're my sons and it's my job to protect you. I'm afraid that's something I neglected to do when I introduced you to detective work. And I'm sorry for that…I guess I got a little carried away when you showed an interest in detective work."

"But we love detective work!" Joe protested. "You never forced us into it!"

"I know, but I should have been more cautious about how involved I allowed you boys to be; this case proved that."

"But what happened was our own fault!" Frank objected.

"And which proved that you aren't ready for dangerous cases," his father responded. "But if I hadn't encouraged you so much and given you so much freedom to investigate, I don't think you boys would have made the decisions that you did during this case." Frank and Joe were silent; they had no response.

"Boys, I know this is hard," said Laura softly. "But we love you and we're only doing what we think is best for you."

Again, the boys were silent.

"Have you any other questions?" asked Fenton, his gaze going from one son to the other. Joe merely shrugged and Frank stared at the floor. Fenton sighed again. "Boys, I know you're disappointed, but can you at least see why your mother and I have made this decision?"

"Can you guys leave us alone to talk?" Frank asked, ignoring his father's question. His parents glanced at one another before his mother nodded.

"Alright, honey. We'll be with Gertrude in the canteen if you need anything." She kissed Joe's forehead and smoothed his hair before standing up and giving her eldest son a hug. "Frank," she whispered in his ear. "I know you think we're punishing you but we're not. Please try and see that." The dark-haired boy gave a half-hearted nod, and his mother gave his cheek a gentle pat before going to the door.

"We'll be back in an hour, okay?" Fenton told them quietly, ruffling Joe's smoothed hair before clapping his eldest son gently on the back. His hand lingered as he gave Frank a meaningful look. "Frank, you guys are still teenagers and you're bound to make mistakes sometimes. That doesn't mean we don't trust you, it just means we should look out for you better, and that's what we're trying to do here." He patted Frank's shoulder one last time before joining his wife at the door and leaving the room.

As the door closed, Joe turned to his brother. "Do you think they're right?"

"About what?"

"About us. Were we too reckless down at the docks?"

"Well, yeah, we made some stupid moves but we learned from it, it's not like we're going to do it again."

Joe looked thoughtful. "I don't know, Frank, maybe they have a point."

Frank was taken aback and stared at his brother. "What?"

"How many times have I jumped into trouble without thinking? Look what happened with Ben Mathis last October…I knew there was a serial killer on the loose and I still let myself get suckered in jumping to the rescue! Less then a year later and I'm still doing the same thing! I haven't learned anything."

"Then you need to learn to look before you leap!" Frank snapped, and then softened at his brother's hurt expression. "Sorry, Joe, that was way out of line. I just…I don't understand why they're doing this now."

"You mean aside from the dramatic hospital stay? I dunno, Frank, maybe because we did act like butt heads! Seriously, if we had been using our heads that day at the dock, none of this would have happened."

"But don't you think we might have learned from that?" Frank persisted.

Joe shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I haven't learned from this crap in the past so you can't really blame Dad for not believing that I'll learn from it now. Besides, I think maybe he's right, maybe we act like we're invincible because we've always had so much freedom to investigate; it's like we think we can do anything."

Frank stared at his brother like he had never seen him before. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"I'm serious, Frank! Think about it. If you were a regular teenager whose Dad had never taught you anything about detective work, do you think you would have gone into that warehouse?"

"Probably not," Frank admitted.

"And I panicked when I saw the fire," Joe continued. "But if I'd been experienced like Dad, I would have been more careful while I was looking for you because I wouldn't have assumed that all the men left in the SUV."

"Even smarter would have been if you had a fully charged cell phone on you," Frank interjected, unable to resist. Joe's astounding ability to continually be incommunicado was a long time irritation of his.

"Yeah, won't be doing that again," agreed Joe. "That lesson is definitely learned…but, Frank, do you see what I'm getting at about Dad?"

Frank gave a reluctant nod. "Can't say that I like you being the one talking sense into me for a change, but I'm going to blame it on the cracked skull."

"Sure, Dude, keep telling yourself that."

Frank grinned. "Beats thinking you might actually be developing a brain."

"Funny."

"I like to think so." His expression sobered. "How long do you think it's going to take to convince Mom and Dad that we can be trusted to investigate again?"

"I don't know. I do know its going to suck being a regular teenager after being a detective."

Frank looked grim. "Then we'd better do everything we can to prove to Mom and Dad that we can be trusted to be careful in any situation."

"But they want proof that we'll be careful in dangerous situations. If we're not investigating, how do we prove that to them?"

"I don't know."

The boys stared dejectedly at one another. They understood their parents' decision, even if they didn't like it, but their bigger concern was how to prove that they could be responsible and handle themselves in dangerous situations.

They had no idea how quickly they would be given the chance to prove themselves.

_To be continued…._

_**A/N:** Sorry this has taken so long to submit, I've been without my computer for the last month and a half (its been hell). Anyhoo, the fall out from this story will be continued in my next story. This fic was always going to have an unresolved ending because I wanted the repercussions to follow the boys into their next adventure…I just didn't intend for the ending to be so sudden. But it was the only way to do it because of how the next story is going to go so apologies for that. Anyway, hope you enjoy and thank you to all the wonderful people who have reviewed along the way. :)_


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